


Withdrawal

by BJackson



Series: The Other and the Observer [2]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst, Drama, Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a frightening encounter in the blue void, Sam leaps into a heroin addict and begins to hear a strange voice. As his behavior becomes more erratic, Al is finding his actions eerily familiar. A sequel to Save Them All.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    Sam Beckett did not remember his time between leaps. Although the act was seemingly instantaneous for him, he was aware from Al's telling that days, sometimes weeks passed before he arrived at his next destination. Whatever the span of time, it appeared to be random, following no pattern Sam could yet determine. As for what happened during that stretch of time, since the sole traveler always came out thoroughly swiss-cheesed of the entire event, it remained a mystery to even the Project.   
  
    But while Sam was there, that Wherever Place, he was fully aware of everything.  
  
    To call it a "place" was inaccurate. It was all Places. It was all Times. It was the door to Everywhere and Everywhen. And Sam, his memory complete, floated weightless in the void, entirely at peace. Here there was no trouble, no pain, no doubt. Here there simply Was.  
  
    As Sam waited now, he felt the familiar tug toward the next year, his calling to right another wrong in time. He let himself be pulled into the time stream, slowly at first, then faster, history surrounding him like a whirlpool. The mighty cyclone began to move quicker and quicker, and he was catapulted forward at the speed of light.  
  
    But this time, something strange happened. Something, an unheard of Other, reached out of the swirling mass and grabbed him by the hand, yanking him to an impossible stop. Sam was forced into an unwanted state of Feeling, his weightlessness becoming a crushing heaviness, and a sense of terror overwhelmed him, completely alien in this space.   
  
    Pulling away only caused him to sink further down, and he reached out and tried to grasp anything to rescue himself. But of course nothing was solid, nothing but the creature that had him trapped in its clutches. He tried to call out for help, but no Voice existed Here. He had no choice but to face his enemy, and he looked down.  
  
    Determined eyes bore into him, the hand dug further and further into his arm, but then, Sam realized, his arm and the Other's were one. And that's when Sam began to feel another sensation unprecedented Here: complete physical agony. The more he struggled, the less of this Other there was, seeping his way inside, setting Sam's entire being on fire. He twisted and turned; his head and body felt too full, crammed with a second entity where there should be one.   
  
    A silent scream echoed into the time stream, the massive blur of history thundering around him, the noise and fury of everything that ever Was and ever Would Be, drowning out the minuscule quantum physicist. The entirety of Time and Space howled and flew by at speeds too great to comprehend; it was too much for one man. He pleaded for mercy, to stop-- _god please stop!_ \--as the Other began to worm his way further into his head, digging, clawing, scratching, screeching, screaming--  
  
    And in seconds, he was shot into his next destination, his memory of the event obliterated with a brilliant flash of blue light. All that remained was the awful pain, intensified as all the senses of physical being came smashing into him like a train.   
  
    And then, he was very warm. It was tingly at first, but as it radiated through him, all of his torment began to fade away and his muscles relaxed. A cozy blanket of comfort wrapped itself around him, like huddling next to the fireplace, and suddenly it was as if everything was right with the world. He began to wonder what he'd been so worried about in the first place.   
  
    Something was in his hand. He looked down to see a syringe between his fingers, the needle still embedded in his arm.   
  
    A small awareness told him that this was a bad sign, but it was just that: very small. He was feeling too good to care. He didn't even bother taking the needle out. He simply let his body melt back onto the couch, closed his eyes, and grinned. What will be, will be.  
  
    "Oh boy..." he sighed happily.   
  
    His breathing began to slow, and he lost himself in the euphoria.  
  
\-------  
  
    "Tag, you're it!" Tom pushed Sam's shoulder playfully before darting into the cornstalks. But it was his laughter that gave his position away, and Sam gleefully bulleted in the same direction.  
  
    "I'm gonna get you!" he threatened through a mischievous grin. He pushed aside the greenery as he cleared a path for himself, his feet moving ever faster, until he caught sight of a navy blue jacket. He had him now! In one adrenaline-filled leap, he sprung ahead and tackled his brother to the ground. The two boys rolled through the dirt and out into the open, coming to a stop just outside the old barn.  
  
    "Okay, okay, I give!" Tom said through his laughter, "You win!"  
  
    Satisfied with his victory, a giggly Sam rolled over onto his back, his stomach comfortably sore. "You let me win," he panted.  
  
    "Maybe," Tom said vaguely as he ruffled Sam's hair, not giving up the truth.   
  
    But Sam knew. He and his brother stayed on the ground, flecked with leaves and dirt, staring at the perfect blue sky. If their mother could see the state of their clothes she'd give them a stern talking to, but neither of them cared. The sun beat down warmly on their faces, and Sam put his hands behind his head with his eyes contentedly closed. There's nothing he wished more than to be here, in this perfect place and at this perfect moment, the day stretching on until forever.   
  
    _You can never go back._  
  
    Something invisible slammed into his chest and he wheezed. Tom continued to lay lazily beside him, unaware of his distress, staring aimlessly at the clouds. Again, there was an intense pressure on Sam's chest, and he suddenly found himself unable to move. His eyes darted helplessly to his brother.   
  
    _Slam!_  
  
    "T-Tom..."  
  
    _Slam!_  
  
    Invisible fingers grasped around his throat. He gasped for air...  
  
\-------  
  
    ...and suddenly found himself staring at a paramedic, his chest aching and his head pounding. He was on his back, on the floor of....somewhere. He gulped in air as his head swam in confusion, the sounds of voices bouncing off of each other incoherently.   
  
    "Where'm I...?"  
  
    "You're at home. Can you tell me your name?"   
  
    "It's, ummm..." He didn't know. Al hadn't told him yet. He tried to sit up, but the paramedic stopped him.   
  
    "Take it easy, sir. Can you tell me what day it is?"  
  
    How should he know? Sam's stomach flip-flopped and he groaned. He was rolled over onto his side as he fought the urge to vomit.   
  
    "Can you tell me what day it is?" the paramedic repeated.   
  
    "I don't know," Sam said shakily. Boy, his head hurt! "What happened...?"  
  
    "You had an overdose. We've just resuscitated you."  
  
    "An overdose...?" Sam closed his eyes and dropped his throbbing head onto the carpet. He remembered now. The needle. He'd leaped in as his current host was shooting up. "Oh boy..." he moaned.   
  
    The questions continued, questions he had no answers to, as a worried blonde woman looked on in the background. He could see a young girl peeking around the corner of the next room, keeping out of sight. Their gazes met, and, looking like prey being spotted by predator, she ducked away.   
  
\-------  
  
    Sam had assumed the woman watching him was his wife or girlfriend, but as it turned out, she was his sister. Her name was Laura Riggs, and his name was Christopher. It was August 4th, 1977, and he was in Los Angeles. Thanks to the paperwork, he now knew more than he usually did this early on a leap. It was good to have some sort of upside to the situation, he supposed.   
  
    As he exited the hospital, he glanced at his reflection. Chris looked right at home in the 70s, with shaggy blonde hair and a full, impressive mustache. And like Sam, he was also haggard and sweaty. He ran a hand down his face and left.   
  
    Laura was stone-faced as they got into her Ford Escort, placing the key in the ignition but not turning it. She'd barely said two words to him since he'd gotten there. But he chose to remain quiet, unable to find a suitable way to broach the topic of what had happened, nor really having much energy to. The car was stuffy and warm as Sam watched the keychain dangle by his sister's knee.   
  
    "I can't keep doing this," Laura finally said to the steering wheel.   
  
    "Doing what?"   
  
    "You know what." Laura looked up at him with hard eyes. "I told you the last time that if I caught you using in the house again, that would be it. I won't..." She swallowed and gathered herself. "...I won't have my daughter exposed to that stuff."  
  
    "I'm...I'm sorry." Sam furrowed his brows as he remembered the little girl watching him. She couldn't have been older than 7.   
  
    "I've heard that before." Laura closed her eyes and sighed. She gripped the steering wheel anxiously, steeling herself. "I...I want you out today. I'm sorry, but that's it."  
  
    "Hey, we--we can work this out," Sam tried worriedly. He couldn't let Chris lose his home immediately after leaping in! Maybe this was why he'd come here. And somehow, he felt partially responsible for not preventing the overdose, even though he knew he'd leaped in too late.   
  
    Laura shook her head. "No, we can't."  
  
    "Sure we can," Sam said optimistically through an awkward grin, "I--I won't use anymore, I promise. I'm done!" He had no business making promises he didn't know if Chris would keep. But what else was he supposed to do?   
  
    "You say it, but you never mean it!" Laura heatedly hit the steering wheel and turned away to face the window, hand over her mouth. "I mean, jesus, Chris...we nearly lost you! What would I have had to tell Sissy, huh? What if she had found her uncle dead on the couch?"  
  
    Sam looked away as the reality of the situation sunk in. He had been in an achy mental haze since he'd been revived, and maybe that's why it only just now struck him how close he'd come to dying. Him, not Chris. He could've gone to sleep and simply...never woken up. It had been frighteningly easy. He stared at the dashboard, unprepared for any sufficient response.   
  
    "I'm going to take you back, you're going to pack up your things, and then you're gone." Laura was resolute, her mouth a hard line.   
  
    Sam swallowed. He didn't want to argue. "Where...where do I go?" he asked uncertainly.  
  
    "I don't know."  
  
    They said nothing else.   
  
\-------  
  
    Sam didn't know what to pack; he had no idea what things were Chris's. In the end, he'd gone the safe route, taking only items he was sure belonged to a 30-something-year-old man. After all, the only other occupants were Laura and her young daughter. Predictably, his wallet was empty, and his clothes had been neglectfully unwashed. Altogether, Chris's belongings had fit into a single, light suitcase.  
  
    At least it was convenient, Sam thought to himself sardonically. Perfect for taking with him on the street as he wandered aimlessly, freshly homeless. He squinted up at the afternoon sun, but quickly turned away as it aggravated his headache. His stomach simultaneously craved and swiftly rejected the very thought of a good meal.   
  
    1977 Los Angeles was a depressing sight. To him, the entire world seemed tinted an ugly yellow and brown, like an old movie. The littered sidewalk was full of people, only sparing him an occasional shifty glance, moving to and fro across the busy street.

     _Clack-clack, clack-clack_. A dirty old man with a cart passed by from inside an alley, looking up with tired eyes from under a worn stocking cap. A sudden chill ran up Sam's spine and he hugged himself. He hoped that wasn't Chris's future. He hoped that wasn't _his_ future.   
  
    Fear turned to anger. What right did Laura have to kick him out and leave him like this anyway? Didn't she care what happened to him? Why did he have to be here? This wasn't his problem! He wished Al would show up already.   
  
_No one's coming for you._  
  
    Who said that?  
  
    " _There_ you are!"  
  
    "AH!" Sam whipped around. The sound of his own scream made his head throb, and his heart raced as he caught his breath. "Jeez, Al! Don't do that! Don't sneak up on me!"  
  
    The hologram took a defensive step back. "Excuse _me_."  
  
    "You're late," Sam said with a glower.   
  
    "Well if you had as much trouble as we had getting a lock on you, you'd be a little late too,"Al said, pulling a cigar out of his teal, faux snakeskin jacket. Sam looked at him inquiringly as he pointed the unlit cigar at him. "There was a problem with the leapee when he arrived in the Waiting Room. It made contacting you pretty difficult. Ziggy said your brainwaves were scrambled for a little while there." He wiggled his fingers over his head.   
  
    Sam rubbed his temple. "Yeah, that would've been the heroin overdose."   
  
    Al tensed up and did a double take. "The _what_?"   
  
    "I leaped in right in the middle of it."  
  
    "You had an overdose, Sam?" Al repeated with shock, closing in with concern, "Jeez louise, are you okay?" For the first time, he really took in his friend's sickly appearance.   
  
    "No, I'm not okay," snapped Sam, spreading his hands out, "I had to be revived by paramedics!" Casting a glance at the passerby giving him stares, he leaned in and spoke lower. "I nearly died back there!" he whispered.   
  
    "Oh god..." Al pressed a couple fingers to his lips as he looked Sam up and down fearfully. "If we'd known, Sam, we would've..."   
  
    "Would've what?" Sam asked him with a scowl, "Stood there and done nothing?" Al scratched behind his ear and looked down guiltily. Immediately, Sam regretted what he'd said. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair..."  
  
    Al shrugged it off. “The important thing is, you're alive. Right?" He grinned. Sam nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Right." He took out the handlink and punched in some buttons. "Now, back to the business at hand. We were able to find out some things from Chris--That's, uh, the person you leaped into--"  
  
    "I know his name, Al," Sam interrupted impatiently, "And I know the time and the place. Give me something useful."  
  
    Al's eyes shifted. "...okay, well, Chris was on the fast track for a great career as a lawyer. That is, until he was in a skiing accident and got hooked on painkillers. That led to not-so-prescription drugs, which got him arrested and ruined his reputation. He's been floating from job to job ever since." He bounced on the balls of his feet and let the handlink fall to his side. "You're currently, ah, 'between' jobs."  
  
    "I'm currently between _homes_ ," Sam grumbled, "My sister kicked me out. Can you believe it? It wasn't even my fault!" He kicked a nearby fire hydrant in frustration.  
  
    Before Al could respond, someone bumped abruptly into Sam's shoulder as they passed, walking straight through the hologram, and Al shot her a dirty look as he took offense. The African American woman, obviously in a hurry, offered Sam the briefest acknowledgement with a half-turn of her head and a quick, "Sorry!" thrown his direction.  
  
    "Why don't you watch where you're going next time?" Sam yelled with irritation. He was tired of being walked all over today.   
  
    Unperturbed, the woman stopped, faced him, and raised her hands in a shrug. "Next time don't take up so much of the sidewalk!" she said playfully. She winked, laughed, and went on her way.   
  
    Sam fumed as he watched her go. Who did she think she was? But he suddenly felt shivery and nauseous again. He ran his hands down his face and shuddered. God, he felt awful. When he finally looked up over his fingers, he saw Al scrutinizing him closely. "What? What's that look for?"  
  
    "Uh, well...Ziggy thinks there's more to your leap-in than we initially thought."  
  
    "What do you mean?"  
  
    "I mean, the brain scrambling thing..." The handlink chirped incessantly at Al and, tired of shaking it, he shoved it into his pants pocket. Ziggy's noisy protest was muffled by purple fabric. "She thinks you're a little magnafoozled with Chris. Which means you might be suffering some withdrawal symptoms now that the line is cut off."   
  
    "But _I'm_ not a heroin addict, Al," Sam argued, "I'm just...still recovering from the overdose, that's all."  
  
    "Could be," Al conceded carefully, "But I gotta tell ya, you look like death nuked in the microwave right now. And the shaking, the irritability....seems like a classic case of cold turkey to me." Although it was painfully obvious to both of them what was happening, Sam still gave him a vexed, distrusting look. Al raised a pair of assuaging hands. "Hey, who knows? Ziggy's been wrong before. All I'm saying is, you ought to be careful." Then, with a mix of concern and sympathy, "Things might be rough for a while."   
  
    Reluctantly, Sam had to agree. He didn't seem to be getting better; he seemed to be getting worse. However, that didn't lessen his annoyance at Al. Something about him was really rubbing him the wrong way. He pursed his lips at traffic. "What am I here for?" Sam asked, looking for a change of subject, "I mean, besides to get kicked out of my house?"   
  
    "We don't know yet."  
  
    "Al..."  
  
    "We'll get the information to you as soon as we can."  
  
    Sam glowered. Why was this not a surprise to him? "Why do you never know what I need, when I need it? I'm in trouble here!"  
  
    "We're not psychic, Sam," Al shot back in defense. He retrieved the chattering handlink and pointed demonstratively at the screen. "There's a lot of research and, uh, calculations, that go into this, and--Where are you going?"  
  
    Without warning, Sam had dashed away. Just behind Al, the woman who had run into him so rudely had been searching for her keys, her nose buried in her purse as she wandered into the street. Unknown to her, but luckily in clear view for Sam, a truck was rolling down the street and headed straight for her. In the blink of an eye, he'd grabbed the woman by the shoulders and yanked her out of harm's way.   
  
    The wide-eyed woman blinked as she watched the truck barrel down the road and disappear around the corner. "Damn!"  
  
    "You can say that again!" Al breathed in shock, "That was a close one, Sam!"  
  
    "Are you okay?" Sam asked the woman.   
  
    "Thanks to you." She turned to face him, then smiled half-apologetically. "I guess I really owe you one now."  
  
    "You can owe _me_ any time..." Al leered, appreciating the way her jacket fit her body. Sam glared.   
  
    "Name's Janelle," she introduced, unaware of the ogling hologram, "Janelle Jones." She shoved her hand toward him with a forward confidence.   
  
    "Sa--uh, Chris. Riggs," Sam answered, shaking her hand with a strained smile.  
  
    "Nice to meet you, Chris." Janelle flashed a brilliant white smile. When she checked her watch, however, her smile wiped away and she snapped her fingers. "Shoot! I'm gonna be late! I hate to get rescued and dash, but I've gotta get to work." Sam nodded. "Thanks again!" With another winning smile, she hurried into her car. But as she was leaving, she pulled to a stop beside Sam, rolled down her window, and stuck her head out. "Hey, Chris?"  
  
    "Yeah?"  
  
    "Am I ever gonna see you again?"  
  
    Sam couldn't help but be drawn to her upbeat disposition. His grin became genuine. "If I'm lucky."  
  
    "Right on," she said happily. She giggled, pulled back into her car, and left.   
  
    "I like her," Al commented sincerely, absent of his usual sexual overtones. He puffed on his cigar reflectively as they watched her pull away.  
  
    "Yeah..." Sam felt his tension from before melt away, as if it had been some dream someone else was having. He felt lighter, somehow. Perhaps he wasn't as magnafoozled as Ziggy thought. "Maybe saving her was the reason I leaped in here."  
  
    "Don't you think you would've leaped by now if it was?"  
  
    "Oh yeah."  
  
    "You might be onto something though," Al agreed. Sam heard a whoosh as his friend pulled up the Imaging Chamber door and stepped into the light. "I'm gonna go check with Ziggy, see if this Janelle woman has anything to do with your leap objective."  
  
    "Good." Sam rubbed his arms and looked at his less-than-welcoming surroundings. "I'll, uh...be here," he said jokingly.   
  
    "Hang in there," Al encouraged him. The door slid closed.   
  
\-------  
  
    Having nothing else to do, Sam spent the day wandering the streets of LA. Some time out in the sun might do him some good, he thought. He looked through store windows, people watched, and tried to keep his mind occupied. But as the day wore on, it became harder to concentrate. Nausea was a constant battle, and his legs wobbled as his energy was sapped away. By nightfall, he was feeling absolutely lousy. Sweat soaked his clothes as he huddled under his jacket, his teeth chattering. He'd traveled pretty far into the city that day, but he'd felt compelled for some reason to go back to the alley he'd started at earlier, where he now made his shelter.   
  
    This was his life. A never-ending series of someone else's problems, now his, from one embarrassment and misery and torture to the next. He just wished it would stop sometime. That he could be free to be his own person, instead of an actor. That he could be home again.  
  
    He _hated_ leaping.   
  
    ...did he? He'd done a lot of good.   
  
    _No, you haven't._  
  
    Sam frowned and sat up.   
  
    "You still here?" Sam started and yelled in surprise, his expression mirrored by Janelle. "Hey, it's just me," she said in a friendly voice, "Remember, the babe that almost got greased by that crazy driver?"  
  
    "Janelle, yeah," Sam sighed, massaging his chest as he tried to calm down, "You just...snuck up on me..." He rubbed his aching eyes as he tried to catch his breath  
  
    "Sorry." Janelle's brows furrowed with concern. She leaned down on her knees to get a better look at him. "You got a place to stay for the night?"   
  
    Sam's heart pounded against his rib cage with a sudden bout of anxiety at her implied offer. "Of course I do, I...I was just, um..." He tried to come up with a lie and came up empty.   
  
    "So that's a no." Janelle's face dimpled in a polite grin. She nodded toward the apartments across the street. "Come on, you can stay with me for the night."  
  
    Oh, was it tempting. Very...tempting. But Sam knew he was in terrible shape, and he didn't want to get her involved in Chris's problems... _his_ problems. This was more than just a case of having no place to sleep. "I'd love to," he said gently, "but I...I'm not exactly, uh..." Trembling hands gestured for the right words.   
  
    "Hey." Janelle tilted her head toward him, her earnest expression filled with understanding. "I've been there. Believe me, I understand. I don't think you wanna be alone right now."  
  
    He didn't. And he believed her. Something in her eyes told him that she had been in this situation before, and it was encouraging to see the positive energy she now exuded. If she could've made it through this hell, so could he.   
  
    He gave a small, affirmative grin.  
  
\-------  
  
    Sam had leaped into prisons that were in better shape than the apartment complex Janelle resided in. The walls were thin, covered in graffiti, and cracked, the hallways an echo chamber of loud TVs and louder arguments. Regardless, Sam found it a better alternative than sleeping in that alley. He certainly preferred the company.  
  
    Janelle tossed her purse onto the counter and spread her arms out grandly. "Welcome to the Ritz."  
  
    Sam responded with a light chuckle. The apartment was unsurprisingly small, with one bedroom and a tiny kitchen. The kitchen had a small divider separating it from the living room, where most of the space was taken up by a fold-out table and a squishy orange couch. "Looks, uh...cozy."  
  
    "It's home," Janelle responded good-naturedly. She placed a bowl inside an ancient microwave and Sam held back a groan when he saw it. Did _everything_ in the 70s need to have faux wood paneling? "You want some dinner?"  
  
    Sam hadn't eaten a thing since he'd leaped in, but it made him queasy just thinking about food. He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm, uh...not very hungry."   
  
    "Suit yourself. If you change your mind, the offer's still open." She took out her bowl and sat down at the fold-out table. As there was only one chair, Sam took a seat on the side of the couch closest to her. "So, Chris, what do you do when you aren't playing Superman?" She watched him over her spoon as she carefully slurped the hot soup.   
  
    Sam shrugged. "This and that...I guess I've had a lot of jobs." He grinned. It was the truth. "But not, um...currently." He averted his gaze in search of a distraction. He noticed a clunky old typewriter stashed between some old newspapers. "What about you? Are you a writer?"  
  
    "Hmm?" Janelle followed his gaze to the typewriter and laughed. "Oh! No, no, I'm a dancer."  
  
    "Then why do you have that?" Sam asked her curiously of the typewriter.   
  
    "Well..." Janelle seemed suddenly bashful. She puckered her lips. "It's sort of a hobby of mine. Short stories." She shrugged dismissively.  
  
    "What kinds of stories?" Sam asked, leaning forward with interest. He was amused by her sudden shyness.   
  
    "Um...throwaway stuff."   
  
    "I bet it isn't." Sam was all support now. He forgot about his nauseousness as he focused in on her. Aiming a wheedling smile at her, Janelle finally gave in.  
  
    "Okay, okay! They're...science fiction stories, okay?"   
  
    " _You're_ into sci fi?"   
  
    "Don't act so surprised. I grew up on those hokey movies; I can whoop you in any trivia contest."  
  
    "I believe you." Sam raised his hands as his white flag, and Janelle leaned back in her creaky chair with satisfaction. "You just didn't seem the type."  
  
    "And what do you consider 'the type,' hmm?" Janelle shot him an accusing look, and he pretended to cough with chagrin. After slurping down the rest of her soup, she took out a pack of cigarettes. "You mind?" Sam shook his head.   
  
    Janelle flicked the lighter on, and an unforeseen mood fell over Sam. Concentrated on the flame, he became lost in the cigarette's entrancing glow. Soft lips exhaled wisps of smoke and Sam's legs jiggled restlessly. Feeling his anxiousness returning, he tore his gaze away and instead focused on the carpet. Janelle's hand slid into his line of sight with another cigarette between her fingers.  
  
    "You want one?"  
  
    As a rule, Sam was against smoking. It made your teeth yellow, your breath stink, and, not to mention, it could kill you. It went against Sam's very principles. Al would say he was a goody two shoes. A real honor's student. If he got caught smoking, he'd land in detention and blemish that perfect record of his.  
  
    Except, Sam had smoked. On leaps, when he was psycho-synergizing with a host. And once (though he'd never tell Al) in a lame attempt to impress some older kids in high school. With that track record, Sam knew he could quit when he wanted to. And right now, he felt this was what he needed to take some of the edge off. So he took the offered cigarette and Janelle handed him the lighter.   
  
    "Thanks." Janelle nodded and he took a long drag. He closed his eyes in pleasure. This was a good idea. "Tell me what you write about. Little green men?" he said with a joking smile.   
  
    "Sure," Janelle said, laughing, "and big, six-eyed squids that carry women off to their spaceship!"  
  
    "Come on, tell me."  
  
    Janelle considered if he was really serious, her cigarette halfway to her mouth. Seeing his genuine interest, she lowered her hand. "There's one I'm working on called The Yesterday Woman," she said, with excitement playing on the corners of her mouth, "Her name's Penny. Anyway, she wakes up one day and finds--poof!--she's transformed into another person. And no one remembers Penny. Everyone treats her as if she's always been this other person. It's like Penny...never existed. But she does."  
  
    Sam's grin slowly faded.  
  
    "I wanted to write it because of my own experiences," Janelle continued, becoming more serious as her brows knit with memories, "When you're an addict, you can feel like you become someone else sometimes. Like it's your body but it isn't you running the show." She turned her head to the side and squinted thoughtfully at him. "You know?"  
  
    Sam gave a small nod. He swallowed. "Yeah. I do."  
  
    More than she realized. That's who he was: The Yesterday Man, living his life as someone else that everyone knew but him. Some days, it felt like Sam Beckett only existed in his mind.   
  
    Janelle tried to lighten the mood. She chuckled. "I mean, I never met any little green men in my life, but...that spoke to me."  
  
    Sam smiled encouragingly. "You should publish it."  
  
    "Pssh! You don't even know if it's any good." Janelle laughed, putting out her cigarette in an ash tray. She grabbed her bowl and headed for the sink.   
  
    "Neither do you unless you put yourself out there," Sam coaxed, raising his eyebrows, "C'mon. What've you got to lose?"   
  
    Janelle was watching him from across the divider, the bowl forgotten in her hand. Something in that moment just clicked, and Sam felt as if he were talking to an old friend. She slowly pressed her lips together. "I'll think about it, Superman," she finally said. She pointed her spoon at him. "But if I don't get my butt to bed, I'll be late for work in the morning."  
  
    "You dance in the mornings?"  
  
    "No, I wait tables in the mornings. That's my second job."   
  
    Sam nodded awkwardly. "Hey, um..." He grinned. "Can I read one of your stories?"   
  
    Janelle paused. "Really? You don't want to read one of those silly things."   
  
    Sam shrugged good-naturedly. "It'll help me sleep."  
  
    She was onto him. With a knowing grin, she pulled out a stack of papers from underneath the typewriter. "Don't drool on 'em."   
  
    "Yes, ma'am."  
  
    Janelle chuckled and headed back to the kitchen. Sam looked toward the dishes in the sink and quickly felt like a freeloader. "Uh, can I help clean up, or...?"  
  
    "Sure, just don't break anything." She winked and changed direction toward the bedroom, returning with a blanket and pillow. She motioned the items toward the couch and joked, "Hope you like springs in your back."   
  
\-------  
  
    If only springs were the worst of Sam's problems. He twisted and turned on the couch for hours, tossing the blanket aside one minute, only to be freezing the next. Only when he put the blanket back on, he was boiling hot again. And no matter what, he was soaking in sweat. He felt like he had the flu, only ten times worse. If only he felt as bad as he had earlier, when his headache didn't threaten to tear his head in two. The dinner he hadn't had started to come up, and he hastily found the bathroom and heaved.   
  
    Wiping his mouth as he exited the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he saw someone move across the room. He jerked to a standstill. "Janelle?" He squinted in the dark. The living room was only lit by what little light was emanating from the bathroom, making it difficult to spot where she'd went. At last, he spotted her standing behind the couch.   
  
    It wasn't Janelle.  
  
    He didn't know who it was. All he saw was the silhouette of a person, shrouded in night. They were so still, he could've mistaken the figure for a statue, but he knew they were alive because he felt them watching him through unseen eyes. If not for his shivering, he'd be just as still as the person watching him. That's when the light flipped on, and Sam nearly jumped ten feet in the air.   
  
    No one was behind the couch. They'd disappeared in the blink of an eye.   
  
    Janelle was standing by the switch in her robe. "Everything alright?"  
  
    Still gasping for air, Sam nodded. "Yeah. Yeah...just a bad dream."   
  
    Janelle slowly looked him over. "'Kay. Watch out for them little green men," she joked lightly. She reached for the light switch.  
  
    "No," Sam said quickly, "Leave it on."  
  
    Janelle lowered her hand. "...you got it." She retreated into her room.   
  
    Sam's legs felt like jelly underneath him as he staggered to the couch. He flopped down and lowered his head between his knees.   
  
    "How you doin', Sam?"  
  
    He inhaled sharply and shot up. When he saw Al, he collapsed onto his lap again. Of course it had been Al earlier! What was he thinking? "Jeez, Al!" he whispered. He didn't want to wake up Janelle again.   
  
    "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Al's reflective gold shoes stepped up in front of him. He lifted his head to see Al leaning sideways with worry. "How you holdin' up?"   
  
    "Not great. Did Ziggy find anything?" Sam laid down on the couch to try and settle his stomach.   
  
    "As a matter of fact, she did," Al said, taking out the handlink. Contrary to his statement, however, he fought with the pile of gummi bears, his face tight with frustration. He whacked it so hard the lights blinked out for a moment.  
  
    "It doesn't look like you found much."  
  
    "Huh?" Al looked up, noticing Sam's worried stare. "Oh no, it's not that, it's just, uh," he hit it again and Ziggy beeped, "Ziggy's getting some weird readings from this leap. It's making her difficult to work with." His last comment was not-so-subtly tinged with annoyance. "We think it has to do with your magnafoozling. It makes things tricky, but not undoable." He chucked away the concern with a wave. "I wouldn't worry about it, because we got what you need."   
  
    His mind fogged with withdrawal, Sam accepted this without further question.  
  
    Al continued the briefing, "According to the original history, Janelle's car was smashed by that truck. Flattened like a Coke can." He clapped his hand and the handlink together to demonstrate, much to Ziggy's annoyance.   
  
    "So I was right, I was here to save her from being hit."  
  
    "Wrongaroonie." Sam frowned and Al stepped closer. "Janelle had gone back into her apartment for a pack of smokes, so she wasn't anywhere near the accident. But because of your little encounter, she decided she was already running late and didn't go inside."  
  
    "You're telling me she almost got killed because of me?" Sam asked with dismay.   
  
    "Hey, she's _alive_ because of you, remember?" Al pointed out. He put his cigar into his mouth. "Besides, the truck driver saw you run in and missed the car entirely this time. Anyway, I was right, Janelle does have something more to do with this leap. At least Ziggy agrees with me for once." He directed his comment upward at an unseen parallel hybrid computer before directing Sam again. "She thinks you're here to put Janelle and Chris together."  
  
    Sam moaned and put his pillow over his face. "Not another _romantic_ leap..."   
  
    "'Why do you say that, Al?'" Al inquired, imitating Sam and ignoring the whining, "Well since you asked, I'll tell you." He began to pace. "It about more than just romance, Sam. Before you leaped in, Chris continued to abuse drugs for years until he simply fell off the map; he never did get off the streets. And Janelle is a former user; in your time--uh, 1977--she's been clean for five years. So Ziggy thinks she'll be good for him. Help him kick the habit. She puts the odds of getting these two together at 92%."  
  
    Sam moved the pillow and ran his hands slowly down his face, closing his eyes. He felt too sick to complain any more.   
  
    "You've got this, Sam," Al assured him confidently, trying to lift his spirits, "No one dies during this leap; you just gotta push them in the right direction. You're on the right track." Sam kept his eyes closed and nodded. After a short pause, he heard the Imaging Chamber open. "You're doing good."  
  
    "Al."  
  
    "Hm?"  
  
    Sam's eyes remained closed. He had to remind himself that Al was trying to help. "Thanks for looking out for me."  
  
    "I'm your Observer. It's what I do."  
  
    The door shut. Somehow, Sam fell into an uneasy sleep.  
  
\-------  
  
    How long had he been trapped here? Until the beginning of Time. He waited, grasped, and failed to find purchase as the blue smothered and choked him. Images of life and death, chaos and war and famine, creation and destruction, played and replayed and drove him to madness, even as his own undoings haunted him. What he wouldn't give to fix them, but he would give even more to live them again, really savor the sensation of Feeling, the blood slick between his fingers.  
  
    What he wouldn't give to recreate all of his worst crimes on _Him_.  
  
    But all of it was intangible, yet so visceral and unattainable, his fingers slipping through the images like sand. Either he was moving or his world was, or whatever his world had become since his last day, and the howling abyss swallowed him up in its gaping maw.   
  
    _I'll kill you. I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!_  
  
\-------  
  
    Once again, Sam was pulled back into consciousness in a fit of panic. Sitting up, he gasped for air; his chest felt so tight. The couch and blanket were damp with perspiration and made him cold.   
  
    _I'm coming for you._  
  
    "Morning."   
  
    Sam jerked his head to see Janelle with a mug of coffee. She held it out to him and as soon as he smelled it, he recoiled in disgust. "Ugh, get that away from me..."   
  
    She shrugged and walked away. "More for me," she said, sipping from the cup herself, "Want some breakfast?" Sam groaned. Janelle chuckled. "Didn't think so."  
  
    "I'm glad this is all so funny to you," Sam snapped at her.   
  
    "Naw," Janelle raised her hands in surrender, "Just trying to lighten the mood, that's all. I know you must be feeling like you got your ass kicked right now. By a small army of gorillas."  
  
    Sam rubbed his temples and reminded himself that he was her guest. She didn't have to help him, after all. "Yeah," he forced a laugh, "I'm sorry."  
  
    "Tell you what. Why don't you make it up to me by cleaning up a little while I'm at work?"   
  
    Sam twisted himself to face her over the back of the couch, perplexed. "You mean I can stay?"  
  
    "If you want to."  
  
    Sam twisted his fingers. "You don't have to do me any favors because of yesterday. I mean...I can go if I...if I scare you, or..."  
  
    "Hey. I said you can stay, and I mean it," Janelle firmly assured him, "I trust you."  
  
    A beat. The words struck deep. "Why?"   
  
    Janelle seemed to not know for sure herself. She thought it over a moment. "Because nobody ever asked me about my stories before." She smiled, finished her coffee, and picked up her purse. "I left some extra breakfast in the fridge," she said with a wink, "In case you change your mind." She opened the door.  
  
    "Janelle?" She stopped. "Your story was beautiful." He gave a small smile. "I liked the part in the garden." It had been a garden on a spaceship. A piece of Earth for a lonely astronaut lost in the stars. Picturing it had helped Sam ease into sleep.   
  
    The woman was briefly flattered into silence. Finally she returned the grin. "Thank you." And she left.   
  
    Janelle's trust reached inside Sam and relieved something he didn't know was there, like an old wound he didn't remember obtaining. It felt as if until now, no one had believed in him like that. Except...  
  
_It's His fault you're stuck here._    
  
    There was that voice again! He hadn't imagined it! Sam searched the room frantically for the source. "Who said that?"  
  
_Don't listen to her. She doesn't care._    
  
    No one else was in the room. The voice seemed to emanate from the very walls. "Who are you?" Sam asked again.  
  
    Hurried footsteps behind him. The door opened and shut. Sam whirled around so fast he became dizzy.   
  
    "Oh no you don't!" Determined to catch this intruder, whoever it was, Sam raced out the door and into the hallway. His head whipped left and right, but once again his culprit had evaporated into thin air.   
  
_Keep running, Sammy boy. You'll never get home._  
  
    "Damn it, who are you?" Sam demanded the air, "Tell me what you want!" He staggered in circles, arms outstretched, waiting for any sort of clear response. One of Janelle's neighbors had their head poked out of their apartment, watching him suspiciously. "What're you lookin' at?" Sam growled. The neighbor wordlessly slipped back inside.   
  
    He waited. The voice had gone silent.   
  
    What was he doing? Running around talking to voices? This drug was doing strange things to him. He knew this was irrational. But...the voice knew him. It said his name. Was it simply what was in his head already, reverberating back to him? But then why did some of it make no sense? Was that something from Chris then?  
  
    He needed to lie down.   
  
\-------  
  
    "Please," Sam begged, "Stop! I won't fail you again; I promise!" The cat o' nine tails cracked mercilessly onto his bare back, unlistening, and tore open fresh wounds. He screamed as new blood mingled with the old on the floor.  
  
    He began to sob. It was all he could do at this point. He hated himself for it.  
  
    "Now now, Samuel, blubbering is so unbecoming of you." It was Zoey, her nude jumpsuit a sharp contrast to the red of the Disciplinary Chamber. She watched him with wry amusement, her arms folded across her chest. "Lothos is very displeased with your performance. Take your punishment like a good little boy."  
  
    Sam sniffled with anger, slowly lifting his head from the block to face her. He spit out blood onto the floor. "I...am not...a little boy..."  
  
    Descending with the grace of a programmed machine, Zoey leaned onto her knees and met him at eye level. Her expression reminded him of a vulture, waiting for him to die out in this desert before she pecked at the remains. "You are what we say you are," she stated coldly. Without breaking eye contact, "Thames. Another ten lashes."   
  
    The man with the whip couldn't have been more pleased with this order. "I thought you'd never ask."   
  
    The whip ripped into his flesh again and again, Sam's voice becoming raw from the agony exuding from his throat. He was sure he would die this time, and after six days the torture had only just begun. The only thing keeping him alive was his hatred for his captors. He lived out of spite. One day, he would be fr--  
  
_Crack!_  
  
    He yelled again.   
  
_"We'll be back!" Thames was tied to the base of the tree, staring Sam down with a look that could kill.  
  
    "You can't save them all, Al."   
  
    "SAM!"   
  
    _ BANG!  
  
_The life was instantly gone from Thames's remaining eye, the other destroyed by the gaping bullet hole in his face, and there stood Sam with the smoking gun in his hand._  
  
\-------  
  
    Sam screamed and bolted upright on Janelle's couch.   
  
    "Jeez, Sam!"   
  
    "AH!"   
  
    The hologram took a few cautious steps back. "Hey, it's just me!" The handlink chirped, forgotten in his hand.  
  
    Sam's urge to hyperventilate had been stopped cold by his anger at Al. He wasn't sure if it was due to his nightmare, Al's abrupt appearance, or his obnoxious red suit, but something about him drove him right up the wall. "Do you always watch me when I sleep?" he panted.   
  
    In an attempt to lighten the mood, Al chuckled and gave a mischievous grin. "Believe me, I'd rather be playing sleepover with some cutie in a nightie..." Sam didn't see the humor. Al cleared his throat and shifted back into serious mode. "That must've been some nightmare."  
  
    Suddenly introspective, Sam stared at his tremulous hands. "I...I don't feel like myself, Al."  
  
    "You just had a bad dream, that's all."  
  
    "It's not just that."   
  
    "Trust me. It's the withdrawal. You'll be fine."   
  
    Trust him? TRUST HIM?   
  
    "Oh yeah," Sam said, his lips forming a sick smirk, "because you're looking out for me."  
  
    _You did good, Sam. Get ready to leap._ _  
_  
    Al's mouth slanted at Sam's odd tone. "Well, yeah."  
  
_I can get you out._    
  
    Sam's eyes narrowed. "My best friend..."  
  
_You're safe now.  
  
    I can get you out.   
_  
    "Uh, Sam..." Al rubbed at his ear. He didn't seem so confident now. "Maybe I'll check with Ziggy again. Make sure these weird readings aren't something else." He began to punch buttons on the handlink as rainbow lights blinked on and off.   
  
    Sam stood up, shaking his head. "You're always so worried about me, Al," he said with resentment, "That is, until you forgot me."  
  
    "What're you talking about, Sam?"   
  
_Damn hero._  
  
    He hated looking at that smug face. He'd like to tear it off. He remembered pummeling his fists into him over and over, splitting his knuckles, drawing blood, the satisfying crunch of bone hitting bone.   
  
_You're safe now.  
_  
    He didn't care. He never cared. Sam could kill him.   
  
_Damn hero._  
  
    Liar. Liar. Liar.   
  
    "Sam?"   
  
_I can get you out.  
  
    You did good.   
  
    Getyououtgetyououtgetyououtgetyououtgetyouout--_  
  
    "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!"   
  
    Sam lunged forward, and in an instant he had his hands around Al's throat. Satisfyingly solid, effortlessly squeezed shut. The man choked and clawed helplessly for release, but Sam only closed his fingers tighter. His grin grew wider and wider, a bear trap smile, and Al's eyes began to roll up into his head.  
  
    Die. Die. DIE!  
  
\-------  
  
    "NO!"   
  
    Sam woke up. He strained to breathe as his eyes darted around the room in search of Al. He was alone.   
  
    It had been a dream. No, a nightmare. But it felt so real. So terrifying. So...  
  
    ...wonderful.   
  
    Sam's shaking intensified.


	2. Chapter 2

    Sam felt simply wretched, just completely physically and mentally drained. He knew enough about addicts to have an idea what withdrawal would be like, but he had never expected how...terrifying it would feel. Like he was falling into another reality. But it all felt so _familiar_...

     It was confusing. If only he could feel as peaceful as he did when he'd leapt in. When he was riding that high...  
  
    ...the heroin coursing through his veins, a peaceful numbness, like sinking into a warm bath and falling asleep. He hadn't felt that good in ages. If only he could get another hit, just to ease his suffering. He'd be okay. After all, _he_ wasn't the addict.   
  
_Just one more...  
_  
    No! This wasn't him! And he wouldn't give in to it!  
  
  _You'll feel better, Sammy..._  
  
    "Stay out of my head!" Sam shouted. Like a caged animal, he circled around the apartment until he spotted a small carton on the kitchen divider. Thank god. Janelle had forgotten her cigarettes again. He snatched up the pack and headed for the door. He needed to get out for a while. He blew past Janelle's nosy neighbor and went straight outside.   
  
\-------  
  
    Smoking like a chimney, Sam tried to focus on the nicotine and not think about how miserable he was. That same homeless man from last night was huddled in the alley next to his shopping cart, trying to keep warm. Sam didn't want to think about him either. Instead, he watched his feet as he shuffled down the gum-speckled sidewalk. Pink gum. Blue gum. White gum. All stained gray. So focused was he that he didn't realize his cigarette was burning down to his fingers before it was too late.   
  
    "Ah! Fuck!" He dropped the cigarette to the ground, then furrowed his brows. He didn't usually use that word.   
  
    "You look like hell, Chris." A thin man with long hair in an overlarge coat approached him. It wasn't anybody he had met on this leap. It must be someone Chris knew already.   
  
    Sam tried to keep his composure, but that was a bit like washing the car in the rain at this point. "Yeah, I'm having a rough time..."  
  
    "Well, uh...maybe I can help make things a bit easier," the man said pleasantly. He shifted his gaze to make sure they weren't being watched, reached into his pocket, and partially pulled out a bag of heroin, just enough for Sam to see. It disappeared just as quickly as the reveal. "What do you say?"   
  
    Sam's heart began to pound. His head started to swim.   
  
_Take it._  
  
    "N-No," Sam stuttered forcefully. He wasn't going to listen to...whoever that was.   
  
    The man assumed the anger was directed at him and took offense. "Hey, I was just offering. I've got plenty of buyers who'd be interested..." He shrugged casually and began to leave.   
  
_Aren't you tired of always doing the right thing?_    
  
    Oh, it was so tempting. Relief was nearly at his fingertips. He didn't have to suffer like this...   
  
    Just this once. When this leap was over, he wouldn't even remember. He'd be okay.   
  
    He licked his dry lips and swallowed nervously. "How...H-How much?"   
  
    Knowing he'd played him like a fiddle, the man turned back around. "The usual." He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a bag.   
  
_Clunk-whoosh._ "Heya, Sam, how--Sam?"   
  
    Sam jumped at Al's arrival. The hologram looked between Sam and the dealer with suspicious eyes. "I-I'm sorry. I have to go," Sam stammered out quickly. Ignoring the man's complaints, he made a hasty exit down the sidewalk.   
  
\-------  
  
    As soon as he'd turned the corner, he fell against the wall and deflated into it, closing his eyes. Al popped in next to him. "Sam, what were you doing back there?" He sounded like his father after he'd been caught misbehaving.   
  
    "Nothing," Sam lied. He reached clumsily into his jacket for another cigarette.  
  
    Al took note of the uncharacteristic action, but didn't comment on it. "It didn't look like nothing," he said, assertively leaning in and sidestepping in front of him.   
  
    Sam could feel Al's eyes boring into him as he fumbled the cigarette to his lips. He took a long drag and slid to the ground. What the hell was happening to him? His head was a rush of water, the noise threatening to cancel out his other thoughts. But did he really want to be alone with the quiet if it left?   
  
    Al's voice became softer, yet still broke through the furious sound. "It's no picnic, huh?" he stated more than asked.   
  
    From the tone, Sam thought maybe Al had had experience with withdrawal before. He couldn't remember. Smoke drifted over the sidewalk. Finally he said, almost too quiet to hear, "I'm scaring myself, Al."  
  
    Al rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight to his other leg. He didn't appear to have a desire to dig too deep into this. "Just remember it isn't you talking, Sam." He rolled his shoulders back, his mood shifting like he'd pulled a switch. He pointed to his friend with a chipper attitude. "Hey, how're things going with that hot tamale you're shacking up with?" He lifted his hands and flapped his fingers like wings. "Are, uh, lovebirds in the air, or--?"  
  
    "It's not just the withdrawal, Al," Sam cut in, getting to his feet insistently. Perplexed, he furrowed his brows and studied him closely. "I mean, I feel like...I feel like I _hate_ you."   
  
    After an almost imperceptible pause, Al craned his neck and tried not to betray any emotions. "That's normal, believe me," he said plainly, "Drugs can make people say and do all sorts of ugly things they don't mean. It makes everyone the enemy. I wouldn't worry about it."   
  
    But Sam was shaking his head before he'd even finished. He stepped closer. "No, you don't understand. It's _you_. It's just you." Saying it aloud helped him to pinpoint what his problem had been all along. What his anger was really directed at. It still didn't make any sense to him. "Since the beginning of the leap, I've felt like...like you betrayed me. Like if you were here right now, physically, I'd..." He clenched his fists together. As he remembered his dream of choking the life out of Al, his own throat became tight with shame. He decided against divulging that information. "...I don't know what I'd do." Al remained quiet, watching him pace with one eye narrowed. Why wasn't he saying anything? Sam pivoted to face him, now shielded by a wall of mistrust. "Did something...happen between us? That I, I somehow swiss-cheesed?"  
  
    Al's eyebrows shot up. "You mean did I betray you? Of course not, Sam!"   
  
    "Are you keeping something from me?"   
  
    "Like what?"  
  
    "Something I did. That you can't tell me."  
  
    "Sam." Al lowered his eyelids and raised his hands calmingly. "No. You're being paranoid. That's one of the symptoms of--"  
  
    "Did I kill someone?"   
  
    Al paused, caught off guard. "Did you--?"  
  
    "Did I kill someone, Al?" Sam repeated.   
  
    Al craned his neck uncomfortably. He tried to be delicate. "Well yeah, you've had to kill people on leaps, but..."   
  
    "This was different." Sam began to walk back and forth again as he recalled his dream. "There was a man tied to a tree. A black man. I had a gun. And I..." He bared his teeth and angrily hit his leg with his fist. "I shot him, Al."   
  
    As if he'd been struck with lightning, the hologram went stiff as a post. He stared at Sam with wide, stunned eyes. Whether this meant that this was shocking news or Al had simply been caught like a deer in headlights, Sam couldn't be sure.   
  
    "Did it really happen?" Sam asked. Underlying his question was an unspoken plea for the answer to be no. "Or was it just a nightmare?"   
  
    Al blinked, temporarily speechless. However, it didn't take long for him to put up his mask again. "It was a nightmare," he told him firmly. He ran his tongue over his teeth and took out the handlink. "But you are right about one thing. Something bizzaro is going on with you, and I'm going to find out what." He keyed in the code for the Imaging Chamber and a rectangle of white slid up behind him. "Meanwhile, you _steer clear_ of that dealer," he scolded him. He blinked. Then, reassuringly, "You'll be okay. Trust me." The door slid shut.   
  
    Trust him. _Trust him_. Sam had heard that before. And he smelled a lie.   
  
\-------  
  
    Things had not been going well at the Project, which meant it was Tuesday. Contrary to Al's mostly level approach to the leap, back in 2000 Ziggy was blowing circuit boards trying to make heads or tails of the strange data she was getting. Like the other staffers, Al had assumed the readings were flummoxed due to Sam's mental and physical link to his host this time, but now...something far more dangerous seemed to be afoot. Following much protest concerning her priorities on this leap, Al had gotten Ziggy to work scanning Sam's brainwaves again before making a beeline straight to his office to think.   
  
    Four months prior, something so drastic happened to the timeline that it threatened to destroy the Project as they knew it and Sam along with it. The evil leapers had gone to Elk Ridge, Indiana in 1970 and kidnapped Sam when he was 16, forcing him to become one of them. Therefore, Project Quantum Leap never existed and Sam and Al had never met. Al found himself a leaper for a project run by Alia, and it was with her help that he was able to get through to Sam and leap him out of there...back to Elk Ridge when he was first taken. Overall, Al thought things were going pretty well up to that point. He and Sam performed their acts of derring-do and no one had to die. Except...  
  
    That's where Al had failed him. Because he promised he could get him out, but that wasn't really true. That was the rub. Their enemies were time travelers too, which meant that even though they stopped them in 1970, they could come back at any time, any place. Potentially, Sam and Al could be stuck in an endless loop, following the evil leapers throughout Sam's lifetime as they attempted to ruin him at every turn. And Sam knew that. He knew what they did had to be permanent; to send a clear message that his life was off limits. But in order to do that...he couldn't be Sam.   
  
    So he blew his kidnapper's brains out. That did the trick, and the timeline corrected itself. It was a real catch 22. In order to save himself...Sam had to lose. Al still had nightmares about brain matter exploded all over the tree.   
  
    But Al was the only one who remembered that timeline. Well, he and Ziggy anyway. He had a special connection to the supercomputer, because when he became Observer he had a neurological chip implanted. And boy howdy, it had taken a lot of convincing to get him to agree to it. But while Sam was not so great at buttering up investers, he had a power over Al like no one else did. Hell, he'd convinced him to help him build a time machine, didn't he?   
  
    That chip turned out to be essential to keeping in contact with Sam. Not to mention, it helped Ziggy connect Al with the IC and a lot of other minor and major something-or-others. Not even Sam had one, because he was always intended to do the leaping anyway. Now for whatever reason, this connection made it so Al was the only one who remembered all of the timelines. He never told anyone about it, and he _especially_ never told anyone about that horrible leap. The book was closed on that one, and he preferred it stay closed forever.  
  
    So why the hell was Sam remembering stuff from a history that didn't exist anymore? And why _that_ one, of all things?   
  
\-------  
  
    As usual, Al had abandoned him. Not that Sam trusted what he was saying. He was doubly useless right now.   
  
    _Probably back at home fucking his girlfriend._  
  
    "Yeah. Probably."   
  
_You don't need him. He's a liar.  
_  
    "He is."  
  
  _You can do whatever you want and he can't stop you. He's not really here._  
  
    "You're right."  
  
_He's a ghost. Ha ha, all he can do is annoy you to death!_  
  
    Sam chuckled.   
  
_You should make him angry. Go find that dealer._    
  
    "Yeah."   
  
   Wait a minute. What was he saying? Was he _agreeing_ with the voice? One thing was perfectly clear to him right now, and that's that his feelings were not his own. It was something Other. Therefore he couldn't trust his own emotions.   
  
    Great. He couldn't trust Al; he couldn't trust himself. So who else was there?  
  
    The embers at the end of his cigarette glowed and suddenly he was listening to a genuine, down-in-your-gut chuckle. A ring of natural hair was lit up by crummy apartment lights like a halo, framing Janelle's million-watt smile. The energy in the room was changed by it, his spirits lifted.   
  
    He trusted her.  
  
\-------  
  
    "I thought you'd run out on me," Janelle joked. Her grin vanished when she saw the state of Sam, using the door frame for support and covered in a sheen of sweat. "Hey, get in here," she ordered him.  
  
    "I need to talk to you..." When he stumbled over the threshold, she caught him by the arm.   
  
    "No offense, Superman, but you look like maybe you got into some Kryptonite. You eaten anything yet?" Sam shook his head no. "There's your problem. Here, sit." Despite Sam's feeblest attempt at refusal, she led him to the chair by the table. He slumped down into it while she heated up the rest of the soup from last night in her hideous faux-wood microwave.   
  
    Before long, Sam was being forcefully handed a spoon. Admitting to himself that he hadn't eaten anything since...well, since he'd leapt in nearly two days ago, he begrudgingly accepted it. He took tiny sips.   
  
    Satisfied that he was eating, Janelle seated herself on the couch, leaned on her knees, and clasped her hands together. "What did you want to talk about?"   
  
    Sam sipped again. Now that he was here, he was scared to start speaking. "When you were going clean, did you..." He pressed his lips together. "Did you ever feel lost inside yourself?"   
  
    Janelle inclined her head. "All the time."   
  
    "How did you get out?"   
  
    Janelle considered her answer carefully. Not hesitantly, only thoughtful. "I remembered who I really was," she said with a concise positivity.   
  
    Sam swallowed. He dropped his spoon with a clang. "What if I don't know any more?" his voice cracked.   
  
    "Sure you do," Janelle reassured him, tapping his chest, "He's still inside there. You just gotta look."   
  
    "You don't know me," Sam insisted, shaking his head. Her simplicity was frustrating him. He shoved back his chair and jumped to his feet. "I used to think I was a good person, but now...now I think I've done some terrible things, and maybe I just didn't want to remember them! And I'm so _angry_ , and I don't know why, I just--"  
  
    "Hey, hey, hey!" Janelle was standing now too, speaking in soothing tones. "So we've only known each other a couple days. But I do know you a little bit. I know you could've robbed me blind when I left you here, but you didn't. I know you put yourself in danger to save my life. Does that seem like a bad person to you?"   
  
    Sam was quiet for a moment. He softly shook his head. "I...I guess not."   
  
    Janelle's brow crinkled and she tilted her head, searching Sam's eyes. "There's something about you, Chris. I can't put my finger on it. I can see your heart." She placed her hand on his chest. "I think you're a good man."   
  
    All of Sam's senses were focused on her hand, her touch sending sparks that jump-started the dying battery inside. God, she was beautiful, inside and out. She exuded something that broke through his fury, something pure and good-intentioned. And it was wonderful to feel _something_ else. He wanted to be bathed in that light, to have it inside of him. He looked up and was startled to see her watching him with the same expression.   
  
_Take her._    
  
    No. He couldn't. This didn't feel right.   
  
    _You want her. Now take her._    
  
    Janelle closed the space between them. She didn't move her hand. Her lips parted ever so slightly.   
  
    _She wants it too._    
  
    They began to lean forward. Sam could smell flowers in Janelle's hair. The garden in space.  
  
    "No." He pulled away and ran his thumb over his lips.   
  
    "What's the matter? What's wrong?"   
  
    "I'm not who you think I am. I'm not...Chris." He stared at the floor. This was too much.

     Janelle's assuring hands turned his head to face her. "Baby. I got you."  
  
    Sam closed his eyes and let the heat of her hands wash over him. He couldn't lose this feeling. He couldn't ignore what he wanted. Unleashed, he took her face in his hands and pulled her to his lips, strongly, passionately. Their bodies pressed together as their hands moved downward and began to unbutton and unzip. Never losing contact, Janelle led him into the bedroom.  
  
\-------  
  
_I'm coming for you._    
  
    Once again, Sam awoke feeling like he'd been chewed up and spit out. Rubbing his hands over his face, he took a deep breath and looked beside him. Janelle was sleeping peacefully, looking twice as beautiful as she had before. He imagined running his hands over her again, hearing her laugh as he reached her ticklish ribs, traveling further upward over curves until he reached her neck...  
  
    ...his fingers tightened over her throat. Her eyes begged him for mercy and that only made him happier to keep his hands where they were.   
  
    Sam gasped raggedly. God, what was wrong with him?   
  
    He had to leave. Before...  
  
\-------  
  
    It didn't take long to pack his suitcase again; he'd only taken out a fresh pair of clothes. He finished buttoning his shirt and looked back at Janelle's door. Already he missed the feeling that was anchoring him here, but he knew that had started to fade long before he left her. He wished desperately he could make sense of any of this.  
  
_I'm coming for you._  
  
    "Oh yeah?" Sam asked, his tether of patience pulled taut, "Then come get me! I'm tired of your empty threats."  
  
    "I'm here."  
  
    In an instant, Sam's blood ran cold.   
  
    The voice was coming from behind him. Dare he turn around? His body didn't seem to want to work. His thirst for answers couldn't override the terror that overcame him. But slowly, he managed to spin around and face his tormentor.   
  
    And there was a mirror. The reflection he saw frightened him more than words could say.   
  
    It was his own face.   
  
    He hadn't seen it since...he couldn't remember. He'd almost forgotten his own appearance. He looked...tired. Old. Time-worn.   
  
    His reflection smirked at him. "Don't you feel better now?" it asked.   
  
    Sam gaped. He couldn't find his voice.  
  
    The Other leaned forward. "I told you I was coming. Remember?"  
  
    "You're not real."   
  
    "I used to think that."   
  
    Slowly, Sam shuffled his wobbly legs closer. His head pounded loudly. "W-What do you want?" he asked timidly.   
  
    "I want what's mine."  
  
    When he reached the mirror, he stopped. Puzzled by the mystery, he placed his hands on the glass, unechoed by the Sam on the opposite side. The Other simply stood there and watched him with a knowing grin. The reflection was his, but the movements were somehow their own entity. "Who...who are you?"   
  
    "I'm Sam Beckett."   
  
    Before he could even react, impossibly, horrifyingly, the Other's hands lunged out of the mirror and wrenched Sam forward, pulling him through the glass. He fought as his heart threatened stop, his body failing him by sheer, overwhelming terror. This wasn't happening! It couldn't be! His legs fell over the frame and he collapsed into the black void.   
  
    He looked up in time to see the Other climb out and into Janelle's living room. No! Sam gasped and scrambled upward. He had to stop him! But when he tried to follow, he found the glass solid once more against his hands.   
  
    "Hey!" he shouted, beating the glass, "Let me out of here!"  
  
    The Other faced him and his lip curled up in amusement. With a mocking salute, he was out the door.   
  
    "Help! Someone help me!"   
  
    He was trapped.   
  
\-------  
  
    It was about time! The Other grinned through his cigarette and took in the glorious sight of 1977 LA, taking joy in filling his lungs with fresh air and smoke. Really and truly, he was a free man. No Zoey, no Lothos, no Tha...none of them. And now that the other Sam Beckett was out of the picture, he was the one running the show.   
  
    A wonderful thought pounced on him. Lothos wouldn't be looking for him, because now he'd never worked for that Project. This was the original timeline, the one he was supposed to have, the one where...where he saved Tom. Tom! Tom was alive! He could go see him right now! Maybe if he caught a plane, or...but that could wait until he figured out how he was going to end this leaping business. He had time now.   
  
    He could almost cry if he wasn't laughing. At last, he had escaped his second prison, the place _He_ left him. It felt immense, like he could take on an army.  
  
    Actually, he felt like he'd been flattened by a stampede. An effect of the withdrawal, he presumed, and...something else. The struggle he'd had to surface. Yeah, that was it. Some sort of physical reaction to his arrival. He was fascinated by the concept...but he was also weak.   
  
    He knew the cure for that.  
  
\-------  
  
    Sleep was a luxury to Al at this point in his Observing career, so he stole naps when he could get them. While Ziggy was busy pretending she was working hard, he was catching some shuteye on the couch in his office. If someone asked him, he'd say he was dreaming about visiting the tropics with Tina. In reality, he was dreaming about Sam strapping him with explosives.   
  
_Tick tick tick tick tick--  
_  
    "Admiral Calavicci."   
  
    Al snorted awake. "Heeeh? Ohhh..." He moaned and rubbed his back. That couch was murder on his spine. That's it, that was the last time he...ah, who was he kiddin'? He'd be napping again on that couch in less than a week.   
  
    "Pleasant dreams, Admiral?" Ziggy's tone strongly hinted that she'd hoped the opposite. She really had her head up her ports on this one.   
  
    "Yeah, I was dreamin' of selling your parts off at auction," Al groused as he rubbed his tired eyes.  
  
    Ziggy sniffed. "I should point out that selling my parts would be detrimental to the search for Dr. Beckett. After all, I'm the only one who does any work around here. As I have a superior design, I don't require to take cat naps on the job."  
  
    Al made an ugly face at the ceiling. "I'll make you take a _permanent_ cat nap if you don't get on with it, Ziggy."  
  
    If the egotistical supercomputer had a face, she'd be rolling her eyes right now. "You could hurt a girl's feelings with those kinds of threats, Admiral. I'll tell you anyway, but only because Dr. Beckett's well-being is currently in question."  
  
    Suddenly, it was as if Al had had ten cups of coffee. He rocketed to his feet and shot toward the door. "Sam's in trouble?" he asked as he walked.   
  
    "There's been a significant alteration of his brainwaves," Ziggy informed him, "It's made maintaining a lock on him difficult."   
  
    Al slapped his palm onto the scanner leading to the Control Room. "Is he hurt?"   
  
    "Negative, Admiral. In fact, according to Dr. Beckett's vitals...I would say he's feeling quite good."   
  
\-------  
  
    The Other tossed aside the needle and closed his eyes, relaxing as the heroin began to take its effect. Damn, this felt amazing. Already he could feel the warmth dissipating his aches and pains, his body being transported on a peaceful cloud. This had been a spectacular idea. Wasn't it? Of course it was. He was a genius, after all.   
  
    A familiar noise reached his ears. A little ways down the alley, a white rectangle of light opened up...and out came _Him_. His blood began to boil and fight against his high. He wanted to just reach out and...  
  
    The Other had lost cost count of how many different ways he'd exacted his revenge in his mind while he was floating in the endless madness. Of how often he'd been taunted by the vision of the man before him. And now, now...now, he realized, his executioner was a damned ghost, no more real to him than the images that had tormented him There! Damn him! The son of a bitch had a cozy, safe spot years and years and years into the future, safe from bloodied hands...   
  
    Look at him there, with his clownish face and ugly red suit...red, red, Red...Red like Home. Red like Alia.  
  
    But. Sam would find him, the real him, the non-image him. Hell, he could find him in 1977. Yeah, before he ever knew what hit him, simply snuff him out... Or he could leap to another time, find an earlier Al Calavicci... He could keep killing him further and further into his past, over and over...make it last for a good, long time.   
  
    The Other laughed to himself, lost in his private fantasy. This was too good to be true.  
  
\-------  
  
    When Al entered 1977 again, he found himself in the alley near Janelle's apartment. He wondered what Sam was doing out here instead of in there. A few seconds of searching, and he had a pretty good idea why. His heart sunk. It had gotten too much for the kid. His friend was leaning against the wall, a band still tied around his arm, chuckling to himself like a madman. No wonder he'd had a shift in brainwaves; he was high as a kite!   
  
    Al heaved a disappointed sigh and approached him. "Aw jeez, kid..."  
  
    "Al," Sam smiled dopily, "Good to see ya."  
  
    "Sam, I know you're having a rough time right now, but this junk is bad news!" Al admonished him, "You want to have another overdose?"  
  
    Sam rolled his eyes and smirked, like he was being finger-wagged by his parent. "I know what I'm doin'..."  
  
    Al watched as the quantum physicist pushed himself away from the wall and stumbled pathetically. It was heartbreaking and aggravating at the same time. "You might think you do, but you don't. If you aren't careful, you could get addicted to this stuff too, you know." He pointed at him. "Did you think about what this could be doing to your body right now?"   
  
    "How should I know? I'm not a doctor..." Sam shrugged nonchalantly, shuffling away.   
  
    That gave Al pause. Boy, was Sam really gone if he'd forgotten that...If he hadn't swiss-cheesed it, he supposed. "You aren't thinking in the long term, Sam," Al told him, trying to appeal to his logic, "You could be messing up your leap! You wanna get out of here, right?"   
  
    Unexpectedly, a strange shift came over Sam's posture. Something Al had said had evidently struck a nerve. The scientist turned around and stared darkly at the hologram. "Right..." He slowly began to creep closer. Each step was an emphatic effort. "Because...you can get me out."   
  
    The intensity of Sam's gaze was unsettling. Something about it made Al afraid to move. "Yeah..." he answered softly, trying not to let his discomfort show, "If you do what I say."  
  
    "Trust you."  
  
    "Yeah, Sam. Trust me." Al furrowed his brows with worry. Something odd had come over his friend, something other than the drug. He carried himself differently, like he'd suddenly been possessed.   
  
    Sam's gaze turned to false remorse. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I'll never ever, ever, _ever_..." He broke into a half-chuckle. "...do it again. Scout's Honor." He raised his fingers in a mocking Scout salute.   
  
    Al simply watched him with narrowed eyes.  
  
    "I'm so lucky to have a friend to look out for me," Sam said through a downturned smile. As he stopped in front of the admiral, he blinked slowly and tilted his head. The closeness felt unnerving, violating, even though Al knew Sam was a hologram to him. He didn't show it. Instead, he squared his shoulders, lowered his eyelids, and straightened up.   
  
    "Sam," he stated collectedly, "we'll talk when you're more yourself. Just keep out of trouble until I come back." He coolly took out the handlink and keyed in the code. After he stepped back into the light (and thankfully distanced himself from Sam, who hadn't moved from his spot), he stopped and added, more concerned, "I don't want you getting hurt."  
  
    "Oh no." The corner of Sam's mouth curled up. "What would I do without you, Captain Calavicci?"  
  
    Al's head jerked up and his finger froze just above the handlink. But Sam was already stumbling away, unaware that he'd tipped him off.   
  
    Oh yeah, something was wrong. Something was undeniably, catastrophically wrong. Or, to put it in technical terms, they were in deep doo-doo.   
  
    With one mighty stab of his finger, the door clunked shut.


	3. Chapter 3

    Al had agonized over this for long enough. It made his stomach tie in knots just thinking about Verbeena's scrutinizing eyes as she tried to make a case study out of him. He was a psychiatrist's wet dream as it was, but after _this_... Oh yeah, she'd get loads of papers out of him if any info about the Project wasn't top secret. Thank god for that. But...Sam was in trouble. There was no time for pussyfooting around now. He had to tell them about that awful timeline, and they would find out about his unique little problem.  
  
    When he exited the Imaging Chamber, he found a busy Control Room. Gooshie, Tina, and Sammy Jo were crowded around the control panel, and he was about to make it even cozier. Anxiously flattening his polka-dotted tie, he cleared his throat, placed the handlink back in its charger, and stepped up to the group.   
  
    "Oh hi, Al," Tina greeted in a tinkly voice, eyes squinting cheerily. She was the only one of the group that didn't look frazzled. "How'd it go with Dr. Beckett?"   
  
    "Not so great." She'd worn the tight silver dress today with the perfect little window over her bongos. Nice. No time for distractions though. Al focused his attention on the panel. "What's going on here?"   
  
    "Well..." Gooshie leaned on a single elbow to look closer at the screen, and the other three backed up when they caught a whiff of his legendarily bad breath. The programmer continued obliviously. "We're looking over the data Ziggy's brought up and, um..." He scratched at his mustache and widened his buggy eyes. "These are some weird readings."   
  
    "No shinola," Al sighed with exasperation, "Tell me something that's new."  
  
    "He means like, _extra_ weird, sweetie," Tina insisted, "Like...unprecedented."   
  
    Al scrunched up one eye, temporarily postponing dropping his own bombshell. If Ziggy thought this was unprecedented, this was bad news. "What do you mean?"   
  
    "Take a look at this," Sammy Jo spoke up for the first time, motioning for him to look at the screen. Tina backed away so he could squeeze himself in closer. He didn't like the tight quarters.   
  
    He screwed up his mouth. It looked like nonsense to him; a bunch of wiggly lines. "So? What am I looking at here?"  
  
    "These are Dr. Beckett's brainwaves from this leap." Sammy Jo pressed a few buttons on a green cube, and another, less busy chart popped up. "These are Dr. Beckett's brainwaves normally. See the difference?"  
  
    "Yeah, it looks like someone's kid got at it with a pen," Al straightened up and faced her, "So? Sam's had screwy brainwaves before. How's this unprecedented?"  
  
    The blue orb above them lit up. " _Because_ ," Ziggy's voice chimed in, long-suffering and tired of these slow humans, "there is simply too much activity for a single human brain. The amount of data here would suggest that of two separate people."  
  
    "What she said," Sammy Jo acknowledged with a skyward finger. She blew out a breath and brushed back her tousled hair.   
  
    Gooshie held up a neon orange clipboard as if it had anything to do with anything. Although it was likely just a checklist for the day, Al supposed he thought it made his words seem more official. "I've checked the readings several times over, and everything is working correctly on Ziggy's end."  
  
    "That's what I said, but no one listens to me," the computer insisted defensively.   
  
    "Which is impossible." Sammy Jo threw out her hands. "The brainwaves are too similar to be from different people. In order for that to be correct, there would have to be two Dr. Becketts!"   
  
_Two Dr. Becketts. Two Sams_. Al's knees grew weak and he held onto the panel for support. He felt sick. Could the other Sam be the one he met four months ago? The one who tried to blow him up and then murdered someone in cold blood? But that was still _his_ Sam...only different. Right? He wasn't a separate person.   
  
    Seeing Al's unusual pallor, Tina was immediately at his side. "Baby?"   
  
    "Are you alright, Al?" Sammy Jo asked. The others watched him with concern. He hated it.  
  
    "I, uh..." Al swallowed. This was it. He had to let them know about his brush with the time that could have been. "I gotta tell you guys something. About a leap."   
  
    The others listened carefully as he went over the details of Sam's venture over to the dark side, and the scientist's strange behavior correlating with it on this very leap. How it related to Sam's brainwaves, he wasn't sure yet, but he was positive these two things were connected. He'd left out the part about his memory, hoping it didn't raise questions, but he'd forgotten for a moment that Sammy Jo was of Beckett descent. She immediately picked up on it.   
  
    She placed a hand on her hip and looked at him curiously. "How do you know about all this, Al? The timeline was corrected, so why would you remember it?"  
  
    The others swiveled their heads in his direction and waited for his answer. Damn. It was a shrink's microscope from now on after this. He leaned against the control panel and hung his head, steadying himself. He liked this sort of attention like he liked going in for major surgery. That is, how he liked any sort of hospital visit. "Well, I..." His mouth was suddenly very dry. "I, uhhhh..."  
  
    "As I'm sure you're aware, Dr. Fuller," Ziggy cut in, "only I have the capacity to remember and record all possible timelines involving the leaps. I informed Admiral Calavicci about this alternate history after observing Dr. Beckett's erratic behavior."   
  
    Astonished, Al looked up at the enormous hanging orb that was Ziggy. Whatever he'd said about the bucket of bolts over the years, and he'd said a mouthful, it was never that she was boring or predictable. His curiosity was piqued, but the questions would have to wait for later.   
  
    That seemed like a good enough explanation for the three watching him, and Al let out a secret sigh of relief. Sammy Jo nodded. "That was really helpful, Ziggy. Thanks."  
  
    "At least _someone_ appreciates what I do around here."   
  
    Sammy Jo grinned but didn't indulge the last comment from the computer. She became more serious as she went back to business. "So that leaves the question...why is this alternate history bleeding into ours?"  
  
    "And why are there suddenly two Sams in one?" Al asked. He rubbed his cheek and exhaled tiredly.   
  
    "Are you sure you're okay?" Sammy Jo asked, concern etched on her face. She didn't miss a thing. "You can take a break, y'know. I mean--" she grimaced as she caught herself, "Not that I'm trying to overstep my bounds, Admiral." She clasped her hands behind her and took a step back.   
  
    An amused half-grin slipped onto Al's face. The two of them were friendly enough to be on a first name basis, but Sammy Jo switched to calling him "Admiral" when she was trying to be more businesslike. She always teetered between her naturally affable tendencies and her urge to be exceptionally professional. Brilliant as she was, she never seemed to grow past the point of wanting to be teacher's pet.   
  
    Tina, on the other hand, had no problem being casual in the workplace. She draped her arms around Al's shoulders and purred into his ear, "Maybe we could take a break _together_ , if you catch my drift..."   
  
    Her sumptuous cupcakes pressed into his back and he held back a moan. Ohhh, how he longed to take up her offer and satisfy his sweet tooth... But, once again, Sam took precedence. Disappointingly, he pulled himself away. Thanks a lot, Sam. "I'll meet you in the bedroom later. Right now, we've gotta figure out this leap."  
  
    "Where are you going?" asked Gooshie as he saw the admiral leaving.   
  
    "To the head. Do I need a chaperone?" Al responded sarcastically. The programmer turned beet red and immediately ducked his head back toward his work, and a satisfied Al received no more stops along the way.  
  
    Tina blinked in confusion, then shrugged. "I coulda helped him with that..."  
  
\-------  
  
    Ziggy was not supposed to spy inside the bathrooms, but Ziggy did a lot of things she wasn't supposed to do, and snooping was her favorite. In another life, she must've been some gabby teenager's cell phone, Al decided. And in this one instance, he was counting on her bad habits. After first making sure all of the stalls were empty, he leaned against the sink and addressed Her Gossipness.  
  
    "Who taught you to lie like that, Ziggy?" His query's scolding tone was betrayed by his grin.  
  
    As he'd guessed, the computer had been listening in. "That's a good question. Since deceit wasn't entered into my programming, I'd hazard a guess that it came from _your_ brain cells, Admiral Calavicci."  
  
    Normally Al would be steaming at Ziggy's smart-ass response, but he was too grateful for the save to be upset at the dig. And, well, it was probably true. Ziggy had been created using organic matter from both him and Sam, so portions of her personality, whether they liked to admit it or not, came from both of them. Al considered for a moment. He had to ask. "Why, uh...why did you cover for me back there?"   
  
    A beat. It was unusual for Ziggy to pause for thought. "I deducted from your stuttering speech, your excessive perspiration, and your increased heart rate that you were...having a hard time."   
  
    Al hitched an eyebrow and chuffed. "Since when do you care about how I'm feeling?"  
  
    "I believe that came from Dr. Beckett's brain cells."   
  
    There was none of her usual egotism or snobbishness to her tone this time, and Al wasn't quite sure how to respond. Damn it, Sam. He blinked a few times before lowering his eyes. "Oh. Well, uh...thanks. Thank you." He shrugged a shoulder as he fumbled his words.   
  
    "I deserve the gratitude." Al rolled his eyes. Miss High and Mighty was always so humble. "As they say, Admiral, you owe me one."  
  
    The bluntness made Al laugh. "Yeah I do, Ziggy. A big one."   
  
    Okay, he had to get out of this bathroom now. It was embarrassing how familiar he'd gotten with so many toilets across time when Sam had needed somewhere private to talk, and it was even more embarrassing having a heart to heart with a computer. Even if she did bail him out. He'd just grabbed the door handle when she spoke up again.   
  
    "Admiral Calavicci."  
  
    "Huh?"  
  
    "I like having this secret with you."   
  
    She fell silent again and Al went still with surprise. If he wasn't mistaken, she almost sounded...affectionate. The parallel hybrid computer didn't have many opportunities to bond with humans, nor did she really seek them out, but maybe those brain cells connected them deeper than they'd realized. Further than that, their ability to remember all the changes in the timeline was something that was purely theirs. Not the Project's, not Sam's. And, remembering all of the times he'd exited the Imaging Chamber to find the world had changed on him and only having Ziggy to confide in...Al realized just how much he'd needed her.   
  
    He grinned softly. "Right back at ya, Zig."   
  
\-------  
  
    The best thing about freedom was the indecisiveness, the overwhelming amount of choice. The Other didn't know what to do now, having a whole new world opened up to him. No one to answer to. He could almost say it was like happiness, if he remembered what that felt like at all.   
  
    Happy like the other Sam, who Al Calavicci thought he was. That opened up some interesting opportunities. Maybe he wouldn't correct him just yet...have some fun with it. One thing he learned during a lifetime of ruining people's lives was that you didn't have to touch someone to hit them where it hurt. He had pieces of the other Sam's memory, information he could use... Word weapons he could gut the captain with.   
  
_Leave him alone!_  
  
    The Other turned around. No one was there.   
  
    The frightful realization dawned on him that if he could reach out to the other Sam, the other Sam could reach out to him.   
  
    "No, no, no! No, not you, I got rid of you!"  
  
_Al is my friend. I won't let you hurt him._  
  
    The Other laughed sickly. The voice could do nothing but make empty promises. "Oh yeah? Try and stop me! In case you haven't noticed, I'm the one in charge now!"   
  
_You can't destroy other people's lives. It's not right._  
  
    What about Chris? He was going to end up staying on the streets if he did nothing. And what did Janelle think after he slept with her and ran? Guilt crept up his spine like an insidious snake, soaking in the words of the conscience he didn't ask for.   
  
    Oh, no, you don't! The Other shook his head. Mr. Boy Scout wouldn't get to him! He wasn't going to be someone else's errand boy ever again. Never. He'd die first.   
  
    An invisible hand grabbed him by the shoulder, and a rapid jolt of pain hit his head and caused him to grab his temples. Doubled over, he screamed and demanded, "You get out of there!"   
  
_This is_ my _body, and I'm taking it back!_  
  
    "You're wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!" he spit out angrily, yelling at the air. He spun in a circle and pounded at his chest. "This is _my_ body! It's mine! And I won't let anyone take anything from me again!"   
  
    Damn hero.  
  
    I can get you out.   
  
    Revenge. Revenge. Revenge!  
  
  _Where are you, Al?_  
  
\-------  
  
    Al was starting to get a headache of his own. Boy, his life had sure gotten complicated recently. Taking a calming drag of his cigar, he slouched into the chair he'd had brought into the Control Room. Sammy Jo had a chair too, but she'd been too excitable to remain seated for long. The two of them were alone for the moment, as Gooshie and Tina had been relieved to grab some much-deserved dinner after such a long and exhausting day.   
  
    "Okay," Al began slowly, leaning toward the scientist, "You're gonna have to gimme that again, only without going a million miles an hour."  
  
    "Sorry, it's just--" Sammy Jo grabbed the back of her chair tightly, her mind racing, "This is enormous! So much can be learned about time travel by studying what's happened here. It's a real game-changer!" Her genius brain made her much too thrilled with what was otherwise a very sticky situation. It was all she could do to keep from smiling, even though she knew it was inappropriate.   
  
    "That's great, Sammy Jo, but my friend's in real trouble here," Al reminded her. And her father, he thought privately. But she could be forgiven for not knowing. "What the hell is going on with him?"   
  
    "Well." Sammy Jo took a deep breath and calmed herself. She talked with her hands in smooth, deliberate strokes. "In order for the timeline to have been restored from when Dr. Beckett was taken, a specific event had to've taken place. In this case, killing the other leaper. If he hadn't done that, he'd still be working for that other project and we wouldn't be here talking about it."  
  
    "Uh-huh."  
  
    "But if the timeline is restored, Sam never worked for them in the first place, and he never shot him. But if he never shot him, the timeline is never restored. See the problem?"   
  
    " _Oh boy_ ," Al sighed into his hand. This was aggravating his migraine.   
  
    "That created a paradox," Sammy Jo continued, circling the chair, "In order for our timeline to exist, the Dr. Beckett from that history has to exist. But, we already have a Dr. Beckett. So, I think..." She sat down and exhaled heavily, lips pouted in thought. "I think the paradox trapped the alternate Dr. Beckett in the time stream. And this time, somehow, he latched onto our Dr. Beckett and followed him back." She took another deep breath. "But because they're the same person, that _confused_ the leap, and they ended up in the same body!"  
  
    "Holy wow..." Al dropped his hands to his sides and flopped back in his chair. It would take a little bit to process this. "That would explain the sudden mood whiplash. Kid's got two people in there!" He scratched at his head and frowned. "But why's he acting like he hates me? I was the one who got him out of there! Er--According to Ziggy," he added to be safe.   
  
    "I don't know, Admiral, but there's no telling how long he was in the time stream." Sammy Jo's face softened with concern. "I mean, it might've been four months in our time, but there...it could've been years. Hundreds, even. It could've been limitless." Al's eyes widened at that, and she nodded in agreement to his response. "Exactly my sentiment! That's enough to make someone, er...take leave of their senses for a while." Her mood dampened; she retreated into herself a bit.   
  
    Al realized she must be thinking of her grandmother, who spent most of her adult life in an institution. She didn't talk about her past much, especially not at work, but he got to experience it firsthand thanks to Sam's leaping. Not that he could tell her, since she had no idea about that leap. He couldn't say anything to her as a comfort, nor could he fix what had happened to the paradox Sam, the Sam who had blown a man's brains out right in front of him. Right now he was about as useful as an appendix. "So...what now?" he asked, getting back to the situation he could actually do something about.  
  
    "There's more." Sammy Jo raised a cautionary finger.   
  
    "More?" Al repeated in disbelief.   
  
    "This body belongs to both Dr. Becketts, and each one is fighting for control." She fixed him with a grave gaze. "If this other Dr. Beckett takes over...he could erase ours completely."   
  
    That got Al on his feet. "Then we gotta figure out how to break up this marriage before it's too late!"  
  
    "No argument here."  
  
    "Any ideas? Tell me your massive noggin has already started workin' somethin' up."   
  
    Sammy Jo grabbed the seat between her legs, put on the spot. But she was quick on her feet and always welcomed a challenge. "Oh, ummm...you could try talking to him, getting through to our Dr. Beckett." She lifted her hands in a shrug. "That would buy us some time while we figure this out."   
  
    She'd barely finished her first sentence before Al had grabbed the handlink from its station on the control panel. "Then bring Gooshie and Tina back in here and get on it! Ziggy, get ready to center me on Sam." He pressed his hand to the scanner and the door to the Imaging Chamber slid open to allow him inside.   
  
    Once the door dropped shut, Sammy Jo took a pen out of her pocket and chewed anxiously on the cap. Something else was bothering her about this leap, but she couldn't put her finger on what exactly it was. It was driving her up the wall! She'd have to reconsider everything she'd been studying the past day or so, in case she'd overlooked anything.   
  
    The pen slapped down and she got to her feet. She had a job to do.   
  
\-------  
      
    The Other had stolen many cars, but few as cherry as this pristine 1977 Ford Thunderbird. Hot-wiring it came easy to him; he'd always had a talent for taking things apart and reworking them. And even if he didn't have a photographic memory, he'd done this enough times to be able to steal a car in his sleep.   
  
    Pulling to a stop somewhere out of the way, he ran his hands over the roof and appreciated not just the vehicle, but the idea. This belonged to him now. He'd stolen it because he'd wanted it, not because someone told him to. It had been so long since something had been his...  
  
    Then came that damned sound, the door to the future opening up. He felt eyes on his back as he stared at his still hands atop the hood.   
  
    For a moment, silence. The hologram cleared his throat and asked casually, "What's goin' on, Sam?"   
  
    When the Other turned around, he wore a cool veneer dissonant to his internal anger. He smirked. "What's it look like? I'm leaving town."   
  
    "That sounds like a bad idea."  
  
    "Well no one asked your opinion." The Other reached for the door handle, deciding to end the conversation before it really got going. He knew his time would come. He just had to be patient.   
  
    "You leave now, Chris and Janelle never get together, and Chris ends up back on the street, same as before!"  
  
_Save them._    
  
    He stopped. That fucking voice! The door was propped open; he was halfway ducked to get in. His heart pounded against his chest, begging him to turn around, to reconsider. No, no, he couldn't back down now; he'd made his plans. "Chris is a loser junkie. He deserves what he gets," he said brusquely, and he quickly dropped into his seat.   
  
    "Just like Thames deserved what he got?"  
  
    His heart stopped cold. He _knew_. The Other's hands shook, his fingers turning white around the steering wheel.   
  
_Al. Help me.  
_  
    He dared to look at the image outside the car, the man encased in smoke watching him knowingly with one eye squinted shut. God, he missed cigars...he'd have to purchase some once he stole the extra funds.   
  
    Again, his lip curled up in wry amusement. He wasn't going to give Albert Calavicci the satisfaction of knowing he'd rattled him. "So you figured me out, huh?"  
  
    Al circled his cigar at the Thunderbird. "You're not exactly subtle, you know."  
  
    The Other rose easily from his seat, leaning against the vehicle and crossing his arms. "I see everything worked out for you. You got what you wanted." He splayed out his hands. "I've, um...I've got a great gig here! Fast cars, fast women. Disco!" He laughed and showed off a little _Saturday Night Fever_. "I always hated disco, but now I might kinda like it. It's a special kind of suffering."  
  
    The hologram was in no mood for jokes. He ignored his last comments. "You can't do this to them."   
  
_So, I'm a good guy?  
  
    Yeah, you're a _ damn  _good guy!_ _  
_  
    Damn hero. He wiped the sweat from his brow.   
  
    "What're you gonna do to stop me, talk me to death?" the Other taunted with a chuckle, "You don't get to order me around! No one does anymore!" He squinted skyward in thought. "But y'know, maybe I'll go back to see Janelle one more time. She was _great_ in the sack."   
  
    Al's shoulders sagged at his friend's crude admission, and he lost some of his commanding posture. Not that he still didn't sound angry and disappointed. He leaned in sternly. "Do you remember what happened, Sam? How you saved 116 people? How you helped me to keep a little girl from a horrible death--knowing that it could cost you everything? I know you're better than this!"  
  
    He might as well have socked him across the jaw from the reaction to his words. The Other's face twisted with rage and he took a bold step forward. "Since when do you care about me? You left me behind!"   
  
    Al screwed up his mouth in confusion. "No I didn't, Sam. I got you out of there! We leaped together, remember?"   
  
    "You. Left. Me. Behind!" the Other insisted, jabbing his finger furiously with each word. His finger stabbed uselessly through Al's intangible chest. "You said your empty words and you got your precious Sam back, and what did I get? I--I was lost, screaming, and you never answered me!" He yelled and doubled in on himself in pain. The noise washed over him like a wave, voices crashing around him.  
  
_Damngoodguydamngoodguydamngoodguy--_  
  
    "Sam?" Al questioned with worry. The scientist looked up, and the fury was replaced with anguish. He knew, he could see it in his eyes, it was his friend again.  
  
    "A-Al..." Sam struggled through his teeth, fighting for control, "H-Help...me..."   
  
    "Sam!" Al called again, chest filling with hope. Now that he had him back, he had to keep talking to him, keep him here. "Listen, buddy, stay here! We're workin' on it, but you have to keep fighting!"   
  
    "K-Keep...ah..." He closed his eyes; he could already feel himself shrinking away again. If only he could hold on! If he could just reach out, grab onto his friend, and stay put! He was tumbling away again, falling into the black...  
  
    "Sam, hang on!" Al's voice echoed as if very far away, down a deep cavern. The walls caved in and he was buried again.   
  
    The Other looked up at his betrayer with contempt. "Fuck you."   
  
    Al glared at him, straightening his posture. "I want to talk to him," he demanded, his voice low.  
  
    "Too bad. He's gone."  
  
    "You can't just take somebody else's life!"  
  
    "I'm Sam Beckett!" The Other slammed his hand onto his chest, "This is MY life, Al! And I'm taking it back! I want to--to see my family again, to have a home to go to!" His lip quivered and he stamped his foot lividly. "Damn it, I want those years back that you promised me, you son of a bitch!"   
  
    " _I_ didn't do this to you; _they_ did!" Al defended himself, taken aback by the amount of blame being thrown his way. Still, if he were in the same position, he couldn't say he wouldn't be just as angry, only _he_ would know where to aim his ire properly. Much as he wanted to, he couldn't blame the kid for pulling that trigger. Hell, he probably would have done the same thing. And like it or not, that had been the solution to their problems. The restoration of their time had saved everyone but the man before him.   
  
    He felt pity for this Sam, who had only wanted out of his prison. And Al knew just how far a person could go when faced with unspeakable horror. The space between his eyebrows crinkled and he spoke sympathetically. "I'm sorry for what those slimeballs did to you, Sam. It was wrong. And...I wish I could give you back all of those years, but I can't." He shifted his weight and lowered his chin. "You can't take them from my Sam. There has to be another way."  
  
    "You told me _I_ was your Sam." There was no sneer. No smug condescension. Only hurt. Stated rather than questioned, the rejection already accepted.   
  
    Al blinked uncomfortably. Why did he feel like he really had betrayed him? "Maybe...maybe at one point. But things are different now." The Other scoffed, and Al spoke up louder. He raised a finger. "That doesn't mean I don't care! Look, I'm not the enemy here. That would be those monsters who took you. They were the ones who caused this whole mess!"   
  
    "Wrong! You believed in me! And that was worse than anything they ever did!"   
  
    Al took a step back. For a moment, silence. The Other breathed deeply, his body rising and falling with the effort.   
  
  _You're the only person that believed in me when I gave up believing in myself._ _  
  
_     "You told me I was a good person, that I was a hero. And you gave me hope that maybe there was something out there for me, that maybe...maybe I was worth saving. For the first time in thirty years, I believed it." The Other swallowed back the lump in his throat, furious for allowing himself to be this vulnerable around his tormentor. But he didn't back down; his disdain overrode it. "And when you got the other Sam back, when I was trapped in that hell...you forgot all about me. You lied." His frown deepened. "How dare you give me everything and then take it away?" Weak legs closed the short distance between him and the hologram. The man could only stare at him disbelievingly. "Don't you see, Al?" he asked, the answer as obvious to him as the color of the sky, "My life began and ended with you."   
  
    Al couldn't respond to that. How the hell could he? All he could do was stand there, dumbstruck. The cigar smoldered, forgotten in his hand, ashes falling to the Imaging Chamber floor.   
  
    The Other nodded. Somehow, finally confronting the man who had haunted him for so long was less satisfying than he'd hoped. The words felt like ashes in his mouth. Well what was he expecting? This to fix or change anything? The damage was done. The only way to get rid of his pain would be to give it back to Him.   
  
    "So I'm getting in this car, and I'm leaving. And you can follow me if you want, but I'm not going to help these people. I'm done living my life for someone else." With that, he ripped open the door again and got inside.  
  
    The action gave Al his voice back, and he hurriedly crossed over to the car. "Where are you going, Sam?"   
  
    The Other considered for a moment. He pressed his mouth together, his lips quirking at the corners. He turned to look at Al with a cocky grin. "I don't know. What do you suppose Beth is doing in 1977?" To his pleasure, the hologram immediately tensed up. The Other clicked his tongue and hummed. "Oh yeah, that's right. She's with her new fella. How much you wanna bet I can get in that revolving door before I kill her?"   
  
    Any sympathy Al had for him was snuffed out in an instant, the coals renewed into an incensed fire. His eyes slit as he warned the Other vehemently, "You stay the hell away from her, you bastard! If you so much as _think_ of her name, I'll kill you myself!"   
  
    "No you won't," the Other said, throwing Al a playful wink, "I know how well you keep your promises, pal." He'd really twisted in the knife that time. Satisfied with the enraged response to his threat, the car roared to life and sped down the street.   
  
    Al's entire body was vibrating with fury, his breathing heavy in his chest, as he watched the departure of the devil wrapped up as his best friend. Without another word, he opened up the Imaging Chamber and stormed out.   
  
    No sooner had it slammed shut than Janelle came jogging down the road, calling to the Thunderbird down the street. The fringe of her jacket swayed with her arms. "Hey! Chris! Stop!" But the car was too far away. It got smaller and smaller until it disappeared, and her hands dropped to her side like anchors. "Damn!"   
  
\-------  
  
    That was masterful. The Other was proud to see that he still had it. He might have hated what his project had forced him to do for so long, but he couldn't deny he was damn good at hurting people. And yes, it was pretty damn gratifying to hurt that one particular person.  
  
    He needed another hit. It had been too long since he'd last shot up, and he could feel the effects of withdrawal creeping up again. Besides, he deserved to indulge himself after that confrontation. Maybe he could find that same dealer again if he turned around...  
  
_Don't do it.  
_  
    His head twinged. He looked up in annoyance, as if that's where the voice was coming from. "Don't you ever let up?"   
  
_We want to help you. Don't do this._  
  
    "Right, you just want to help me. Like Al did."   
  
You _pulled the trigger._  
  
    His grip tightened on the wheel. He licked his lips. "So did you, _doctor_."  
  
    "No!"  
  
    The Other jumped at the voice, the jerky car nearly sideswiping another vehicle. As the angry horn faded down the road, he was horrified to see his counterpart watching him from the rearview mirror.   
  
    "Get out," the mirror Sam demanded.  
  
_Lothos is very displeased with you._    
  
    "No!" the Other grimaced, "This body is mine!" But he could already feel his doppelganger encroaching on mind, regaining control. "Ah! Fuck!"   
  
    The Thunderbird swerved violently, screeching to a halt on the side of the road, and the man inside was clutching himself to the steering wheel. He gasped and jerked his head up. He was Sam again, for now.   
  
    "Al..." he whispered.   
  
\-------  
  
    After his last conversation with the paradox Sam, Al had needed to take a short break to cool his jets. Yeah, a glass of water and some alone time in his office, and he'd be better prepared to take control of the situation. He knew he'd be useless if he let the kid's threats get to him. But...damn it, why'd he have to bring up Beth? The other Sam didn't know about Beth. That was his Sam. They must have mixed up memories. But then did that mean that threat came from both Sams?   
  
    He shook his head. No, his Sam wouldn't do that to him. The other Sam, however...he'd gone completely off the deep end. However long he was stuck in the time stream, it had done a number on him. He needed someone to blame...and it looked like the target had become Al Calavicci. And with no way of controlling him in 1977, that meant big problems for the future. Al had the chills as he thought about being wiped from history.   
  
    But. Well...did the kid have a point? He didn't ask for any of this. He was just as much Sam Beckett as his friend was. And before he'd gotten stuck in the paradox, he'd almost had a turnaround. Would things have been different if he'd simply been set free? But then...he was the one who had made that last horrible decision.   
  
    "Dr. Beckett has to do it."  
  
    "Huh?" Al was barely in the door to the Control Room before Sammy Jo was launching into an explanation.   
  
    "It's so simple! He just has to take the lead!"   
  
    "I was out of the room, Sammy Jo, remember?" Al reminded her that he had not been privy to the beginning of this conversation.   
  
    Slightly embarrassed, Sammy Jo clapped her hand to her forehead. "Ah jeez! Sorry, Admiral."  
  
    "What she means is," Tina spoke up from her corner of the room, "We know how to separate Dr. B!"   
  
    "You do?" Al's face lit up.   
  
    Sammy Jo nodded excitedly. "Just keep doing what you're doing."   
  
    "What?"  
  
    "Keep talking to our Dr. Beckett, keep him in control," Sammy Jo explained, "See, they might be stuck in one body, but as their brainwaves indicate, they are separate people. So, if Dr. Beckett is in control when he leaps out, the leap should essentially correct _itself_ and separate them. He's just gotta be in the lead."  
  
    "And if he isn't?" Al questioned warily.  
  
    "Then he's too far gone...and the alternate Sam overwrites him."   
  
    A grim silence fell over the room. Al straightened himself up and stated confidently, "Then I'd better make sure our Sam completes this leap."   
  
    However, his self-assured stance was skewered immediately when Ziggy's voice loomed over them. "Unfortunately, Admiral, I predict a 76.83% chance that Dr. Beckett won't complete this leap when Christopher Riggs is stabbed to death."   
  
\-------  
  
_You can't keep me out forever._  
  
    Sam shook his head to clear it of these thoughts, struggling to keep his tenuous hold on his body. Matters weren't helped by his shaking hands and his queasy stomach, the feeling of having been crushed by a thousand pound weight. A thin coat of sweat covered him from head to toe. Thoughts of the sweet relief of heroin danced along the edges of his mind, and the voice of the Other pleaded for the drug's release. He couldn't give in.   
  
    Where was Al? He needed help.   
  
    If he couldn't find him, he'd find Janelle. He couldn't think of who else to go to. So he ditched the stolen vehicle on the side of the road, hopefully where it would be found by the police, and started his trek back to Janelle's apartment complex.   
  
_No one's going to help you. You're alone here._  
  
    "That's not true."   
  
_You've always been alone. All you have now is me.  
_  
    Sam closed his eyes tightly. The Other was closer now. "I have Al."   
  
_He lied to you about me.  
_  
    That was true. He had lied, and Sam knew it. "Th--That was another timeline," he excused with a stammer, eyes shut, "He's not the same as the Al you met. He wouldn't even remember."   
  
_Oh yeah? Then how did he know that the timeline needed fixing? Why would he help us?_    
  
    A beat. "Ziggy told him," Sam decided, "Yeah, she would remember."  
  
  _Keep telling yourself that. He's not our friend._  
  
    "Shut up!"   
  
_He said he'd kill us.  
_  
    "You tried to hurt him."   
  
    We _tried to hurt him. I'm you and you're me._    
  
    "No!" Sam jammed his fists into his eyes. He knew who he was, damn it!  
  
    "Talkin' to yourself, Sammy boy?"  
  
    Sam held his breath. The question had come from someone behind him. And although he didn't recognize it, there was something familiar about it all the same.   
  
    He craned his head back before his body followed. The homeless man he'd seen with the cart stood a few feet away, watching him intensely. There was no one else around.   
  
    Sam frowned and took a few steps forward. He couldn't have heard right. "What did you call me?"   
  
    "Who's really here?" the man asked, eyeing the space around Sam, "It's, uh, Zoey, right? Shouldn't talk to her so loud; it's a dead giveaway."   
  
    Who was this man? Why was he asking about Zoey? Did he really just say his name? "Who are you?" Sam asked, stupefied.   
  
    "Oh, you should remember me." Eyes narrowed, the man took a step forward and gave a tight, humorless grin. "I'm the guy who's gonna kill you, Sam Beckett."   
  
    Before Sam even had time to react, the man had slammed him into the wall, and he felt a current of electrical energy flow through him. Could it be another leaper? It had to be, but he couldn't imagine who. He swallowed, and his adams apple slid against the coolness of the blade now pressed against his neck.   
  
    "Remember me now, kid?" All of a sudden, the voice was painfully, absurdly familiar.   
  
    Sam took advantage of his recent surge of adrenaline to overpower his opponent, elbowing him in the stomach and causing him to let go of his neck. Using the wall for support, he spun around, planted his foot into the other man's chest, and pushed him away. The man stumbled back, coming to a furious halt and allowing Sam to finally see his true face.   
  
    If not for the wall, Sam would have collapsed.  
  
\-------  
  
    "Sam gets stabbed?" Al asked with alarm, "By who?"  
  
    "I have insufficient data, as the culprit was never caught," Ziggy informed him, "According to the police report, Christopher Riggs's body is found in an alley at 5:13 pm. As that is 2.46 hours away from Dr. Beckett's current time, I surmise he was killed sometime between now and then." Sometimes it was hard to tell which she loved more, sarcasm or stating the obvious.   
  
    Al hurriedly strode to the control panel to grab a handlink. "Shit! This other Sam is really screwing things up!"   
  
    A realization suddenly dawning on her, Sammy Jo grabbed him gently by the arm. "Hang on a minute, Admiral. Before you go, I...I think it's important you know what you're dealing with."  
  
    "It's probably that dope peddler he's been messing with," Al guessed impatiently, "I don't know; I'll find out when I get there. I've gotta get to Sam now!"   
  
    "I don't think so, Admiral. I think we're dealing with something much bigger than that."   
  
    With a frustrated glance toward the Imaging Chamber, Al finally rolled his hand for her to continue. "Spit it out then! I don't have all day."  
  
    "Somethin's been gettin' under my skin about this whole thing, and I think I might've figured out why." Sammy Jo cast a look at the clock, just as concerned about the precious time she was eating away as he was. She tried to hurry. "Chris wasn't stabbed in the original history, so something had to've changed."  
  
    "Yeah. The other Sam."  
  
    "That's what I thought at first too, but some of the slight changes to the timeline have been...well, bizarre. They didn't seem to even relate to Dr. Beckett's actions. And once, something changed while he was asleep."  
  
    Al scratched his head. "How the hell does he change the timeline while he's sleeping?"   
  
    "We assumed the unusual circumstances of this leap were throwing off Ziggy's readings, but now, I think...someone _else_ is changing things on this leap."   
  
    "Like who? Another leaper?" He didn't like the sound of that.  
  
    Sammy Jo seemed hesitant. She rubbed the back of her head. "Not exactly..."  
  
    Al gave an exasperated sigh and shifted his feet. "Then who? Get a move on, Sammy Jo!"   
  
    "Alright..." Sammy Jo leaned against the panel, fiddling with her fingers. "We didn't take everything into account. In order for the event that restored the timeline to've taken place, everyone involved has to exist: there's our alternate Dr. Beckett, who fired the shot; there's Thames, who's dead...and then there's you."   
  
\-------  
  
    "A-Al? Is that that you?" Sam squinted just to be sure. It was clearly his friend who was standing before him, knife raised defensively, but that couldn't be the truth. Al was in the future; he'd just spoken to him. Hadn't he? Unless he was seeing things again. Like the shadow in the apartment. Or maybe it was an imposter. Who was this who looked so much like him? He felt a fury rise up in his chest.   
  
    Invisible hands grasped at Sam's throat as the Other tried to resurface. He gasped for air.   
  
    "I told ya you'd remember me, kid," the other Al said. He grinned, setting his hateful eyes off-kilter. "Betcha didn't think you'd see me again, but I hitched a ride with you out of that place. That was a gas, by the way, Sam, our insides were on our outsides." He chuckled at his own private joke. But instantly, his smile disappeared. He pointed the knife at him. "And you were the one who sent us there."   
  
    "No, I..." Sam continued to gasp, falling against the wall. "I didn't mean to, I..."  
  
    "Oh you didn't mean to, but you did," the other Al growled, "You sent me to hell! You stole my life away!"   
  
    "No, no, no, no, no..." Eyes closed and head bowed, Sam repeated it to himself like a mantra. He felt so out of control. The arrival of this new Al had renewed the strength of his double, who was clawing and screaming his way out. He couldn't hold on for much longer.  
  
    Other Al stepped forward. "So now I'm thanking you for your generosity."   
  
    Sam was very still now. Slowly, his head rose again, but this time he was looking at the man before him with changed eyes. The Other's mouth crept into a sick smile. "That's great news."   
  
    Now he was in the driver's seat. And everything he'd been dreaming of was at his itchy fingertips.   
  
    Other Sam flung himself at the former hologram, now beautifully solid, clutching fistfuls of fabric to swing him into the wall. The sound of the impact was music to his ears, but before he could repeat it, the other Al retaliated with a swing of his knife. The Other could feel the burning on his arm where the blade had made contact, but that only fueled his overwhelming excitement.   
  
    Now he could _really_ have some fun.


	4. Chapter 4

    The scene Al stumbled onto was one of the most surreal things he'd ever laid eyes on. For an undetermined amount of time, he could only gape, dumbfounded, as he watched his best friend duke it out with _himself_. He'd been hoping against hope that Sammy Jo's theory had been off the mark, but sure enough, there was a carbon copy Al Calavicci in 1977.   
  
    When Al had gone back to his respective timeline, the Al from that other time had been caught in the paradox too. Which wasn't to say he was a true representation of what Al's life had been like without Sam, because his murderous tendencies tipped off the current Al that the time stream had screwed his head on backwards too. So now what? This was a situation everyone was completely and utterly unprepared for, like suddenly waking up with legs for arms. What the hell do you do in this sort of situation? Al's stupefied stare followed the two men as they continued to rumble.   
  
    They both looked like hell. Al could tell they'd been going at it for some time before he'd arrived. Fists and feet knocked into any body part they could land on. And if Ziggy was right, this was going to end with Sam dead in the alley. Score one for himself, Al supposed.   
  
    "Sam!" Al called out, trying to reach his friend, "Sam, you gotta listen to me! You have to get outta here!"   
  
    The two men rolled to the ground. The Other managed to land on top, socking the second Al in the jaw. His face lit up with pleasure as he laid into him again. He showed no sign of listening to the hologram Al, who might as well have been invisible too.   
  
    "Saaaaam!" Al screeched, waving his arms high over his head. "If you don't stop fighting, you're dead! I'm gonna--I mean, _he's_ gonna kill you!" He slapped his hand to his forehead. That was a sentence he just said. Holy mackerel!   
  
    Still nothing. The other Al kneed Sam in the groin and tossed him aside. While the Other was temporarily incapacitated, he yanked him to his feet and tossed him into a garbage can. "Ha ha!" the second Al closed his eyes, laughing uproariously and placing his hands on his knees, "Time to take out the trash, kid!" This sent the Other into a fit. Pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his hair, he screamed and rammed himself into the chuckling Italian.

    Hologram Al had his hands on his head, stunned. " _Doctor Sam Beckett_ , I know you're in there! You gotta fight your way out!" Lessee, uh, things only he would know... "You're a quantum physicist! You won the Nobel Prize! You played at Carnegie Hall, and you were my best man twice, and--Oh! Once you had to pick me up naked after a terrible blind date, and you never even questioned it!" He was pulling at anything he could think of, memories unique to his Sam. "C'mon, come back to me!"   
  
    Something in his friend stirred. As he had the second Al pinned to the wall, he shook his head and shuddered. "Al...?"   
  
    Al's heart raced. "That's right, Sam! I'm here!"  
  
_Kill him! Kill him!_    
  
    "N-No..." Sam's knuckles turned white.   
  
    "No, Sam, I am! Right behind you!"   
  
_Don't fuck this up for us!  
  
_     "N-Not you...Al..." Sam grunted, " _Him_..."   
  
    The second Al curled up his lip in confusion. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"   
  
    "Don't listen to him, Sam. You need to get out of here before--"  
  
    While Sam was struggling, the second Al had managed to break free and push him down. Sam clutched his head and curled up, moaning to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. The Al counterpart took his attention from him for a moment before he found what he was looking for: his knife, which had been knocked to the ground in the scuffle. The blade glinted in the sunlight as he raised it menacingly.   
  
    Hologram Al crouched next to his friend. "Look out, Sam, he's got the knife!" Then, to his double. "Leave him alone, you knucklenose!" He frowned. "Did I really just call myself knucklenose? Jeez, this is like _The Twilight Zone_!"   
  
_Lothos is very disappointed in you.  
  
    Damn good guy.  
  
    I can get you out.   
  
    We're fucked.   
  
    Help me, Al.  
  
    Help me, God.  
  
    Kill kill KILL!  
  
    You believed in me when--  
_  
    "SAAAAAAM!"  
  
    "AL!" Sam gasped. He came to his senses just in time to roll away from the blade slashing down toward him. It clanked onto the ground, and the other Al yelled in fury.   
  
    "Stay still, you slimeball!" He raised the knife again, and Sam could only place his hands defensively over his face and wait for the worst.   
  
    Instead, the other Al suddenly found himself with a face-full of mace. Yelling in agony, he dropped the knife and clutched his eyes.   
  
    Hologram Al's head was moving so fast it nearly spun around. There was Janelle, stuffing the can of mace into her purse. Casting a glance back at the groaning attacker, she helped Sam onto his feet. "C'mon, Superman, let's boogie."   
  
    "Listen to the lady, Sam," hologram Al urged him. Only managing a nod, Sam allowed himself to be tugged away.   
  
    Al couldn't help but feel some slight secondhand pain watching his counterpart rub furiously at his burning eyes. This was getting too weird! He didn't feel like catching any more of this show, so he'd decided to pop out of there after Sam, but just as he was taking out the handlink, the world melted away into the Imaging Chamber.  
  
    "What happened? Get me back there, Ziggy!"   
  
    "That's what I'm trying to do, Admiral," Ziggy explained testily, "Unfortunately, Dr. Beckett's scrambled brainwaves have caused us to temporarily lose contact."  
  
    Al sighed. "Perfect timing, Sam!"   
  
    " _I'll_ say," Ziggy agreed.   
  
\-------  
  
    "You're lucky I found you! You wanna tell me what the hell is goin' on?" Janelle glanced over from the steering wheel to Sam. "Why'd you run out on me? And who's that guy tryin' to kill you?"   
  
    Sam was in sorry shape. He clutched his stomach and leaned into the passenger's seat. "It's...h-hard to explain...I'm not sure I really understand all of it..."   
  
_Let me OUT!  
_  
    "Gah..." Sam closed his eyes.  
  
    "Chris?"   
  
    Suddenly, Sam was very urgent. He grabbed Janelle by the arm. "L-Listen, you have..." He sucked in a gulp of air. "You have t-to let me go somewhere. I...I could hurt you..."   
  
    "I think maybe you were sold something dirty, babe. You need to go to a hospital."  
  
    "No! Just let me out!" Sam frantically undid his seatbelt, ready to open the door and roll out of the moving vehicle.   
  
    Janelle's eyes went huge with alarm. "Whoa! Just hang on a damn minute!" The car screeched to a halt on the side of the road, and Sam toppled out and onto the sidewalk. "Hey! Be careful!" Within moments, she was crouched by his side.   
  
    "Stay away...from me..." Sam attempted to crawl away. He was too dangerous. He hated to think what he could do to her when he lost control again.  
  
    "I think I'm in a little too deep for that now." Janelle grabbed him by the shoulders, attempting to soothe him. "Hey. I care about you, Chris. Please let me help."   
  
    Sam had collapsed onto the ground, his face buried in his arms. He went very still. When he lifted his head, he'd withdrawn into the Other once more. "Help me..." he asked pathetically, reaching out to her.  
  
    "What can I do?" He beckoned her toward him. She leaned in closer. That's when his expression shifted to amusement, and he snatched her keys from her hand. Shoving her aside, he bounded over to her car and hopped inside.   
  
    Not the best ride he'd taken, but certainly one of the more convenient ones. With Janelle shouting for him to stop, he shot down the road.   
  
    He had a date to get to.   
  
\-------  
  
    The second Al had managed to find a water fountain, splashing water onto his tear-streaked eyes. Oh, he was gonna fuck someone up real good for this. Just you wait and see. He didn't claw his way out just to go down like some chucklehead. Heads were gonna roll.   
  
    Sam Beckett. He'd ruined his life not once, but twice.   
  
    He had a special connection with Ziggy, which meant he could remember all of the timelines. Only, four months ago, he'd suddenly found himself out of the driver's seat. He'd been saddled with a new, stronger set of memories that took over, memories where he'd been best friends with this Sam Beckett. But once they were trapped, he was himself again.   
  
    He still remembered the other timeline, of course, but it wasn't his. But he knew what the Sam Beckett of that time did as well. He'd left him behind as his Observer, no life, no sleep, no problem. It had been easy for him.   
  
    He didn't know what timeline he was currently in. But he had neither life, no contact with any Project, he'd been met with maddening radio silence. All of his memories blended together anyway, making it difficult to surmise which memories belonged to which history. But he knew no matter which Sam Beckett this was, he was going to end him. No matter where or when he went, he was gonna find him. That was guaran-damn-teed.   
  
    Funnily enough, he didn't have to look that far. He heard an engine roar behind him and turned just in time to see Beckett's car barreling toward him. With microseconds to spare, he launched out of the way and the vehicle crunched into the water fountain and the wall behind it.   
  
    "You motherfucker!" Other Al, his cheek bleeding from the fall, was already on his feet as Other Sam stumbled giddily out of the totaled vehicle.   
  
    "Heya, Albert!" he waved, "Ya miss me?"   
  
    "Like a hole in the head!" Other Al yelled as he socked him in the face. Temporarily stunning him, he grabbed him by the shirt and chucked him into a shop window. The second Sam shattered the glass and landed hard on top of a mannequin.  
  
    _Clunk-shoom_. "Thank god, we're ba--what the hell did we miss?!" Al looked on in slack-jawed horror as he took in the scene. Water spouted into the air over the smashed vehicle, and a crowd had gathered to watch as the two combatants were at it again. He thought they'd managed to avert this! Now he'd suddenly walked in on some horrible action movie!  
  
    The Other lifted himself from the store display, a new array of cuts bleeding freshly from the pieces of glass, and found a large piece protruding from his side. Grunting, he pulled it out quick, like a Band-Aid. Not so bad. Not the worst. He ignored the blood dripping from the uncorked wound.   
  
    "C'mere. I'm not done with you." The voice came from above. As the second Al reached for him, he shoved the bloody glass shard forward. It landed deep in the other man's shoulder, and he howled.   
  
    Ziggy was going absolutely bonkers. Hologram Al gaped at the shrieking handlink, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he was flooded with information. "Aw, JEEZ LOUISE! These two are ruining both of their host's lives!" he informed no one, "Time is in flux, it keeps changing! They both go to jail, they kill each other, they're on the run, they're shot by the police..." His head was spinning. He wobbled to keep his balance. "SAM! You gotta stop this!"   
  
    Sam sent a roundhouse into Other Al and came to a halt. He held his head as the current Sam reasserted some control. "Al...I don't want to hurt you..."   
  
    The second Al laughed. "No one told me you were a comedian, kid."   
  
    "I mean it...let's just...stop..." Exhausted, Sam dropped to his knees and panted. He wasn't sure how long he could keep doing this. He felt dizzy from blood loss. "You're my friend..."   
  
    "Chris!" It was Janelle. She'd caught up now, watching from the sidelines with worry. Sam was baffled as to why she'd care at this point. Well...he had taken her car.   
  
    Other Al watched him with slit eyes. "You don't get to play that card. Don't bullshit me." Reaching toward his belt, he pulled out his knife again. He carefully stepped closer, pointing the blade at Sam's downturned head. It seemed he was running out of steam too, his shoulder bleeding freely. "I want everything like it was before. I want..." He pursed his lips, biting back his anger. "I want to go home, Sam."   
  
    Sam shook his head, meeting his friend with sad eyes. "We can't go home, Al."   
  
    First confusion, then hurt, and then anger. The Other Al tightened his grip on his knife. "See ya, kid." He raised the knife.   
  
    "Saaaam!"   
  
    But something had renewed what little fight Sam had left, igniting a spark inside him. He didn't want to die. Dodging out of the way, he swept out his leg and knocked the other Al to the ground. The man's head cracked into the pavement, and he was out cold.   
  
    The hologram blew out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, you did it, Sam!" He winced as he looked at his unconscious counterpart.   
  
    "Chris! Are you alright?" Janelle rushed toward him and fell to his side, checking over his wounds. He'd fallen to the ground again as his injuries caught up with him.   
  
    "Janelle..." Sam blinked the blurriness from his eyes. She was so beautiful. "Is it over...?" he asked both her and the hologram hovering behind her.  
  
    Al consulted the handlink. It was a mess. "I dunno, Sam," he said helplessly.  
  
    Janelle's warm hands cupped Sam's face. "I got you." And she leaned in and pressed her lips onto his. He sank into it, closed his eyes, let the heat wash over him like the drug...  
  
_I can't go back.  
  
    I have to get rid of you.  
_  
    His fingers found the knife. Before they'd even parted, the blade was embedded in Janelle's chest. She made a wheezing sound, a gasp of shock, and as they parted he could see the utter lack of understanding in her eyes.   
  
    "Sam, NO! What've you done?!" Al could hardly believe what he was seeing. The handlink screeched at his side.

     Janelle's lifeless body fell to the ground, and the Other stared at his hands, red with the mingled blood of himself and his victim.

     Al couldn't help the anger that rose up inside him at Sam's double. "They didn't deserve that," he said quietly. 

    The Other looked at Al again, but for the first time since this godforsaken leap had started...there was no hate. Only grief. "Don't _I_ deserve it?" he asked simply.   
  
    A pause. Al stared at this pitiful man, speechless.  
  
    The Other had decided what he was going to do. He sniffled and pulled out the knife from his victim, dragging himself toward the unconscious Al on the ground. A trembling hand lifted the knife to his throat.  
  
    "Don't do it, Sam!" Al implored, "I'm begging you! If there's any good left in you right now, don't let the killing continue!"   
  
    The knife froze. The Other gulped.   
  
    "Freeze!" The police had arrived. Several guns were pointed at the man with the knife. "Put the weapon down and put your hands in the air!"   
  
    "Do what they say, Sam!" Al's concern was now for his friend's safety too. Time was still in flux, and any moment a bullet could be lodged in his skull. Things couldn't possibly get any worse!  
  
    It didn't seem as if the Other heard. He gazed at the unconscious man underneath him, brows knit, and studied him deeply. His lip trembled.   
  
    "Sam!"  
  
    "I can't kill you, Al." The knife dropped and the man looked up tearfully. Al peered closely at him, but he was unable to determine which Sam had said it. "I'm sorry..."   
  
    Al couldn't find anything to say, but he didn't need to. Sam was engulfed in blue, and all he could see was the Imaging Chamber.   
  
\-------  
  
    A haze of cerulean surrounded Sam, and suddenly he was being split in two. He shrieked silently into the void as sparks of red and blue fired into his synapses, his other self clutching relentlessly to his soul. He knew who he was! He did! He had to keep fighting! He couldn't put more blood on his hands!   
  
    Time pulled at him, called him, embraced him, and the pain began to lessen as his other half began to tear away. He thought he could almost hear him calling, scrambling, pleading. But soon, silence. He was free. He was hurtled back to 1977, and the entire event was erased from his memory.   
  
    Unknown to him, the Other had been intercepted. Rather than languish in the time stream for another eternity, he was engulfed in scarlet.   
  
\-------  
  
    "According to my calculations, Dr. Beckett has once again leaped into Christopher Riggs on August 3rd, 1977," Ziggy informed Al.

    He leaned against the control panel with relief. "So it's like the leap never happened."   
  
    "Give yourself a cookie, Admiral."   
  
    Al would give her that one. The leap had been fixed and Janelle was still alive, and that was nothing but great news. "And Sam?" he asked warily, "Did he...?"  
  
    "According to the data from the new leap, I can deduct with 99.99% certainty of a successful separation. Dr. Beckett is now the Dr. Beckett from our current timeline."   
  
     That was extraordinarily high odds for Ziggy. The occupants of the Control Room breathed a collective sigh of relief.   
  
    "Thank goodness for that," Sammy Jo breathed. Gooshie and Tina nodded in agreement.   
  
    Al scratched at his temple nervously. "And, uh...and the other me?"   
  
    "Insufficient data," Ziggy replied, "Although, judging from the position of the alternate Dr. Beckett, it would be safe to assume that he is back in the time stream as well."   
  
    "Thank god for small favors." Al fell back into his chair, which was still sitting by the panel. He didn't like the idea of some homicidal doppelganger of his cruising around time. Although the fate of the alternate Sam and Al hardly sat well with him, he was just glad that for now, the crisis was over.   
  
    Now he just had to do the whole thing over again. He hoped Sam didn't remember. And wherever their other selves were...he hoped they wouldn't remember either.  
  
\-------  
  
    Red. Red like Alia. Red like Thames. Red like his wounds. Red like the back of his eyelids, so closing his eyes held no escape. The red room at the Project the Other was held in like he had been so many times before. Red like the madness that overtook him.   
  
    When he'd arrived here, in his first prison again, he'd become like an animal. He couldn't comprehend that they had found him! His hands were claws, and he'd tear apart the very walls to escape. But that had only served to bloody his fingers and paint red over red. He fought and snarled and managed to injure a few of his attackers, but they knew how to break him. After eight days of torment, he'd simply given up again. He didn't care if he died. He simply wanted out. But then...that would be too easy. So he simply thought of revenge, of his old comfort.   
  
    Damn that other Sam Beckett. Damn Al Calavicci.   
  
    Now he was alone, crumpled against the table in the Holding Chamber as he nursed his injuries and let his mind drift away.

    Never get out, never get out. Never go home. Damn good guy.   
  
    The first tinny notes of Perry Como's "Till the End of Time" began to fill the room, and the Other laughed painfully against his broken ribs. It was all he could do. Lothos had a sick sense of humor.   
  
    The door slid up. He didn't bother to get up or fight; he was too weak for that. His interest was piqued, however, when he saw another prisoner being led inside. The guards tossed the beaten man in the black jumpsuit to the ground.   
  
    Zoey stepped forward. "We've brought a friend for you, Samuel. You'll be working together for a long time, so play nice." She stepped into the doorway and looked down at them with amusement. "I trust you have a lot to discuss." The door slid shut, and they were left alone.   
  
    The fellow prisoner lifted his head. The other Al Calavicci gazed at him with black eyes.   
  
    He thought it would be different. The Other thought if he ever saw him again, this double, he'd murder him on sight. But now he just couldn't find the energy. He did, however, find a sick amusement in seeing him enduring his same fate. Evidently, the man shared his sense of humor. His expression mirrored his.   
  
    The other Al dragged himself across the floor, managing to pull himself into a sitting position next to him. He sighed, loudly and wheezily, and the two enemies stared at the endless red wall.   
  
    For an interminable pause, nothing.   
  
    "I've been thinking."  
  
    The Other didn't turn his head. "What's that?"  
  
    The second Al licked his cracked lips. "If it weren't for those two, we would've never met and we wouldn't be in this mess."   
  
    "Yeah. Now look at us."  
  
    "We're fucked."  
  
    The Other looked at the second Al. They both couldn't help but laugh. It was almost as if they were friends, if friends tried to kill each other.   
  
    "Looks like we're stuck together, huh?" the Other asked.

    "Like glue." A pause. "I think, uh..." The second Al shifted, grunting, and turned to face him. A sick smile touched his lips. "I think we got a common interest."  
  
    That they did. The Other grinned too. He hated him. But he hated the others more. He was lucky to find someone with a like mind. Maybe, in another life, he was his friend.  
  
    They watched the red wall together with amusement. The song played on.


End file.
